


Wide Open Road

by Vetinari



Category: Stargate - All Media Types, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Stargate Universe
Genre: ATA Gene, Action/Adventure, Atlantis Team, Awesome Samantha "Sam" Carter, BAMF Jack, BAMF John Sheppard, BAMF Vala Mal Doran, Canon-Typical Violence, Conspiracy, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Geek John Sheppard, Gen, Goa'uld (Stargate), IOA (Stargate), Jack being Jack, John Sheppard Whump, John is a Mess, Lucian Alliance, M/M, Mathematics, Post-EatG, Rush has had better days, Sheppard is a huge nerd, Smart John Sheppard, Tags Are Hard, The Trust (Stargate), Vala Mal Doran does what she wants, Women Being Awesome, math!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-13 00:20:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 147,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vetinari/pseuds/Vetinari
Summary: John wants Atlantis to get back to Pegasus. Too bad everyone else seems determined to stop that from happening. Between the IOA, the brass, and general misanthropic assholery it looks like Atlantis is going to be stuck on Earth for a while. Still, at least there's interesting things going on at the SGC to keep him occupied, right?A conspiracy against the Tau'ri unfurls. Attacks on multiple fronts; kidnappings, invasion, a spacebattle, a bomb... Amidst all the chaos, who's the primary target?
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 92
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This thing will be a multi-chapter action-adventure tale. I can't promise true love or much in the way of sword fights but hopefully it will be a fun ride.
> 
> It's approximately novel length and is _technically_ a WIP (in that I've been neglecting finishing off a handful of holdout scenes/sorting out the grammar in favour of outlining the hypothetical sequel...) but the first draft is essentially written out by now, so barring ridiculous issues with the plot that I hadn't previously spotted as I proofread, the updates _shouldn't_ be too ridiculously far apart from each other. 
> 
> So far this thing is unbetaed (if anyone wants to offer themselves up in sacrifice please do, I'd be happy to return the favour!) so all mistakes are entirely my fault, and if anyone spots anything too embarrassing please do point it out!

** Prologue: **

Sheppard peered around the corner, quickly ducking back behind the concrete buttresses of the bunker as soon as he got a headcount. Six enemy combatants, each armed with semi-automatics. Crap, call it Genii honed paranoia, but this just proved his feelings on underground complexes. The drab greys of the enemy soldiers’ uniforms helped them blend in with the oppressive concrete of the bunker, silo, _whatever. _Just 'cause it was the SGC on Earth didn’t mean that John was any fonder of being cooped up hundreds of feet underground.

Sheppard didn’t want to use lethal force on these guys, whilst they definitely weren’t under his command, they were technically his people. Even though _they_ were actively trying to kill him, mind control or not, killing his own men would be more than just frowned upon. It was why he was sticking with the wraith stunner, backed up by a zat he’d raided from one of the soldiers he’d knocked out, and the Intar he was still carrying. 

A shot winged overhead, bullet ricocheting wildly off the steel piping before disappearing down the corridor, John pressed himself further into the curve of the tunnel, trying to present as small a target as possible.

“Sheppard! Give it up! We know you’re there! You’re outmanned and outgunned!”

John mentally cursed, everything had gone to shit, and he still had no idea how the hell this could possibly have happened. The last time there'd been a serious foothold situation at the SGC, it had been a Wraith invasion taking advantage of security flaws in Rodney’s Midway macro, which was giving the IOA yet another excuse to try and keep ‘Lantis grounded on Earth. The security risk of building another gate bridge had still been deemed too high over a year after the destruction of the previous one, relegating Caldwell to the role of glorified bus driver once again. The uncertainty over the status of the bridge had rendered the supply route for the Expedition nearly as shaky as it had been back in the first year, back when they’d been totally cut off.

“Sheppard! Final warning!”

Steeling himself, John prepared to step out into the open.

** Chapter 1 **

** **

Yawning massively John tried to look interested as the Colonel in charge of the training exercises went over the day’s safety checks, these remedial training orders Landry had insisted on were pure _bullshit. _Thankfully Colonel Reynolds seemed to be of roughly the same opinion, but he was still Shep’s superior, and he was the man in charge of this little shindig.

Side-eyeing his fellow _trainees _John swallowed a sigh, for all that he resented the implications that Landry had been not-so-subtly digging at about his leadership skills, the ornery General had technically had a point. Sheppard _didn’t_ technically have the qualifications required for his current command role. For five years it had been _Sheppard_ working out the training schedules and team bonding exercises that the couple of hundred troops under his charge had to undergo, and more often than not Sheppard had led by example… But, well. Unfortunately, everything leading up to Atlantis, and since then, had happened in such a rush that Sheppard had never undergone the mandatory training that all military members of the SGC had to undertake before being certified for gate travel.

He’d only managed to squeeze in the Command Training that was usually a prerequisite for the rank of light bird during those long interminable months when they’d all been kicked out of Atlantis by the crew of the Tria. Sheppard thanked his lucky stars (of which he had several, in both the Milky Way and Pegasus) that he’d been on enough of a loose end back then that he’d jumped on that course. He’d have done anything to quiet the aching sense of _wrongness_ that being back on Earth had inspired. Now, Sheppard dreaded to think what _other _damned queep Landry would have come up with if he hadn’t.

At least McKay seemed to be having fun, he was in hog-heaven exploring the contents of the Asgard data-core that had been installed on the Odyssey a couple of years ago. It had taken this long to establish that, no, they really _couldn’t_ separate the core from the BC-304’s systems (it was inextricably built into the Daedalus-class ship), and commission a suitable replacement so that they could afford to keep the Odyssey indefinitely grounded. The Odyssey was currently dry-docked in Area 51, in order to both copy the Asgard core into all new BC-304s (so that it was no longer irreplaceable), and to begin analysing the reams and reams of information and tech contained therein.

McKay had already discovered the secret to the Star Trek style matter replicator that had caused so much trouble in that last-ditch battle with the Ori. (Not the creepy robotic bug kind that they regularly had to face, but the Clarke’s Law invoking tech that let them build all sorts of objects out of thin air – and how cool was _that_?!) He’d been working on integrating the tech into both Earth and the Ancient systems on Atlantis the last time they’d talked.

Concentrating on the details of today’s exercise Sheppard tried to remind himself that this was necessary, just another step closer, however small, to getting Atlantis back to Pegasus, and the fight against the Wraith. It had been nearly two months already, Sheppard dreaded to think what the Coalition thought about Atlantis’s sudden absence from the political stage, let alone the numerous alliances and trade agreements that had all been left hanging by their rushed departure.

The month of mandatory training had passed in an awkward dance, as John struggled to toe the line between doing enough to pass the exercise, following his by-now natural leadership inclinations, and allowing his fellow… _cadets_ to have a fair shot at getting anything resembling officer’s training out of the exercise. A couple of times Shep was self-consciously aware he’d gone too far one way or the other, but for the most part he figured he’d managed to strike that uneasy balance.

Shep caught Reynolds’ eye mid-yawn, crap. The guy’s facial expression went wooden, even with a cast on his arm the other officer knew how to be intimidating,

“Am I boring you Colonel?”

“No Colonel.”

Shep did his best to look embarrassed, which being fair wasn’t difficult. In truth he really was bored, oh not out of any misplaced macho sense of ‘Training?! I’m an officer! I dun need no stinking training!’ It was the sinking knowledge that following a long physically demanding day of drills and exercises he could do in his sleep (and indeed that one time they’d all been hit with the crystal entity he _had _done them in his sleep), he’d have to spend the equivalent of another full working day stuck in meetings with the IOA under the mountain. Then get up at the ass-crack of dawn and do it all over again tomorrow.

Oh, Woolsey was trying his best, the man had proven several times over what a ruthless mover and shaker he could be back in Pegasus. But… Best will in the world, Woolsey was on the outs with his former peers. Pegasus had changed the timid man, left its indelible mark on him, just as it had on all of them. Woolsey was no longer by-the-book enough for his fellows. The new guy, Carl Strom, was even more of a shark than Shen Xiaoyi had been, and that was saying something. At least Madam Shen knew when to stop with the politics and start caring about the people on the front lines, Strom had none of her restraint. To make matters worse he lacked the obvious levers that Coolidge, slime ball that he was, had to exploit. 

Sheppard honestly wasn’t sure how much he was helping in these meetings, which frequently ran well into the wee hours of the morning, but he was damned if he’d let the IOA scuttle Atlantis without putting up the loudest and longest fight he was capable of. 

He refocused on the here and now, and just in time too, Reynolds was about to begin the day’s exercise,

“Inside that building is a valuable piece of alien technology. Two things stand in your way, opposing fire, and time. The stargate will only be open for another 12 minutes and it’s a half a mile away. Is that clear?”

“Yessir!”

John barely managed not to roll his eyes at the enthusiastic response from all his lieutenants.

“Conduct yourselves as if this was the real thing, the clock starts, now!”

John immediately ordered,

“Move out people!”

Startling Colonel Reynolds, who’d clearly been about to order him to get going. Oops? At the press of a button by Reynolds all the ‘debris’ littered around the training field lit up at once, it might have been impressive, if Sheppard were a wet behind the ears new recruit.

“James! On my six. Scott, TJ, scout around to the other side of the building, give us intel on what we’ll be facing, then double-time it to the gate. Check in in five. Let’s go!”

Laying down cover fire for the pair he’d sent ahead, Sheppard dodged his way through the field of burning crap, dodging the returning Intar shots from the marines in charge of running the exercises. After making sure that the other half of his team had made it into the woods surrounding the warehouse, Sheppard jimmied a side-door open, cleared the passageway inside, and snuck into the building. A quick glance confirmed that Vanessa James still had his six. They rapidly made their way through the maze of passages that surrounded the large open space in the centre of the warehouse. Sheppard and James both making quick work of shooting Intar rounds into any opposition they encountered.

They made their way into the vulnerable open space in the middle of the warehouse, Sheppard didn’t like this, but didn’t see that he had a choice. The ‘valuable alien artefact’ reminded John uncomfortably of the oversized wraith grenade that had been used on the SGC, he turned to James and said,

“You know, it’s probably a bomb.”

“Sir?”

“Or a grenade. Mine. Flashbang. Something likely to blow up in our faces.” Trying not to groan at the likely answer Sheppard made himself ask, “Any recommendations James?”

“Blow it to hell sir?”

“Nah, the point of this exercise is to bring back the ‘priceless alien artefact’ not blow it up.”

Taking a chance Sheppard released the mechanism holding the thing well out of his reach, sending it crashing to the concrete floor of the warehouse. Woops. Oh well, nothing for it, ignoring the obvious lid, he gingerly lifted open the nearly invisible access panel with the tip of his ka-bar, checking around the edges for a hidden catch, or booby trap.

“James keep watch.”

“Yessir.”

Sheppard plunged his arm into the device, and having spotted the object he’d been expecting, plucked out the key timing crystal, then yanked out the rest of the crude timing mechanism, taking a couple of larger crystals with it. Not as elegant as the solution McKay would have found, no, but hey, it hadn’t blown up in his face. Cool.

He rescued the dislodged control crystals. As quickly as he dared Sheppard dumped the oversized ball into his pack, shoving aside the spare set of clothes and other nonsense that had been mandatory carry all damned month.

“Let’s move out.”

They double timed it to the other end of the warehouse, eschewing the obvious exit, and taking another side door. 

“Johansen sitrep.”

“We’re outside the building that holds the gate sir.”

“Well done Lieutenant, enemy combatants?”

“There’s an ambush waiting on the other side of the gate clearing sir. I count six, armed with staff weapons.”

“Sit tight L.T. See you there in three. Sheppard out.”

To her credit James kept up with John’s pace easily. They circled around the clearing the ‘stargate’ was contained in, coming upon the building from the opposite direction to the warehouse. Despite how weirdly green she was in some areas, Shep was glad that James was in his group. Her special forces background in Iraq had given him the excuse he needed to teach his team of LTs the basics of the spec ops radio clicks needed to communicate when you thought an enemy might be trying to listen in.

Sheppard clicked three times to signal ‘hold position’ as they cleared the forest they’d quick timed it through, and settled in to set up their own ambush. They had four more minutes.

He sent the signal to break cover, Sheppard took out three of the enemy soldiers before they realised that he and James were behind them, wincing at the likely result of an Intar shot to the head, even as he managed two headshots. James took out another two, and, to his credit, Scott took the final member of the ambush.

Sheppard used hand signals to let James take the lead, and they cautiously made their way to the shack that contained the gate. James did a good job of it too. She cleared the rooms efficiently, with all the expertise he expected from someone with her training. Well, until they got to the final room that contained the gate, Sheppard saw her begin to rush as the end goal came into sight.

Sheppard followed the 2nd-Lieutenant into the room, automatically scanned the room himself, quickly pushed his way past her, and immediately shot an ‘enemy’ between the eyes with his Intar. Wincing again at the headache his fellow soldier would likely have in a couple of hours Sheppard turned to the young officer and barked,

“How many times James! Clear the room! Doors and corners, kid. That’s where they get you.”

“Yessir.”

The young 2nd-lieutenant was giving Shep the hairy eyeball, shit, he wasn’t picking on her because she was a woman, which was clearly the thought process going on there. James was supposed to be ex-special forces, she had to have gone through a high level of SERE training, and much more recently than he had too. Yet he kept finding himself in the awkward position of schooling _her_ ass. Deciding to brazen his way through the awkwardness Sheppard turned to the other combat trained Lt still in the room,

“Scott!”

“Yessir?”

“Watch our six.”

Scott didn’t so much come to attention, as shiver his way upright, rattling off a textbook salute that would make a drill sergeant weep tears of disbelieving joy. Sheppard resisted the urge to sigh and stare at the ceiling, these kids were uncomfortably keen. Keen and green. He’d long since trained this perpetual need to salute and stand to attention out of his own troops. But this lot were only his to command on sufferance for the purposes of these damned exercises.

From the look of amusement on her face TJ had spotted his internal struggle, she was visibly suppressing a smirk,

“Johansen, dial the gate.”

“Yessir.”

Thankfully Lt Johansen wasn’t quite as green as the other two members of his temporary team, she’d maintained a calm efficiency throughout this course. Admittedly, her training wasn’t as combat oriented as the others, and the gaps in her knowledge showed at times. The young woman was a medic, she’d apparently been contemplating trying to scrape the cash together to earn herself a medical doctorate before the assignment to Stargate Command had come for her. Sheppard hoped all the members of his team would make it in the programme, they were good kids. (Christ didn’t that make him feel _old_? They were _kids_, and they all looked like they were approximately _twelve_.)

They stepped through the large plywood arch that was the ‘gate’, Scott still guarding their backs as they made it through to safety.

The lights went up suddenly, and a slow clap echoed through the shack,

“Well done Team 3. You successfully completed the mission.”

Sheppard’s three lieutenants all looked extremely pleased with themselves. Sheppard cautiously eyed up Colonel Reynolds, he sensed a ‘but’ coming along there.

“Colonel Sheppard, how did you know you’d made the device safe? You correctly identified that it was boobytrapped. Lt James there is your explosives expert. Why didn’t you delegate? Furthermore, Lt James, why didn’t you offer your leader your expertise?”

Sheppard eyed up James’s expression of angry sick fear, and interjected,

“James, would you have felt comfortable disarming this tech?”

Predictably she shot him a nasty glare, eesh, she did _not_ need to prove herself to him, this was not a dick waving contest, Sheppard stepped in,

“Look. …Sir. I’ve got a lot of experience dealing with jury-rigged tech. I knew what I was looking at.”

Reynolds didn’t look appeased, but he nodded tightly to concede that he saw John’s point. Reynolds took a theatrical step backwards and signalled that he wanted Sheppard’s own assessment of his team. John turned to James, and put on his best leading the troops voice,

“Lt James, you’re a fine soldier. Major Teldy speaks highly of you, and I agree with her assessment. However, you need to keep a cool head, and remember, doors and corners.”

John turned to face TJ, he never could quite bring himself to call her by that nickname,

“Tamara, you’re a fine med tech, if you decide to continue in the SGC, or go on to do that medical degree I’d be happy to back you. Though I’m honestly not sure if my word’s worth much round these parts.”

He met Matthew’s gaze and tried not to show the kid how much his youth scared him,

“Lt Scott, you handled yourself well, and I’m sure you’ll continue to pick up the skills you need quickly, going by the rapid progress you’ve made this month.”

James looked cautiously pleased, TJ merely nodded, and Scott? Matthew Scott _beamed_. John held back the urge to gape at the kid. He was so _young_. Had John _ever_ been that wet behind the ears? John shifted uncomfortably and decided to undercut the squishy moment,

“I hope my turn leading the team wasn’t too onerous for all of you to bear.”

James gave him a wry grin at that, all four members of the team had each been given a week to play leader. James’s stint in lead had been a bit like following along behind Ronon’s plans; almost entirely cleaning up behind her, she could be frighteningly competent when she decided to put her mind to it. Scott started to protest loudly that Sheppard was one of the most competent CO’s he’d ever had the pleasure to serve under (like the kid had a _clue_ what made a good officer at this stage), and TJ smiled quietly back at John, before exchanging a look with James.

Yeah. They were good kids.

Reynolds looked satisfied.

“Remember, you’re all to meet at the visitors’ level of the SGC tomorrow at 0900. Trainee Team 3. Dismissed!” Just before John could escape, Reynolds quietly said, “Colonel Sheppard, a word please?”

John held back a sigh and nodded to his team of kids as they filed out.

“You know, John. That exercise was designed to be deliberately impossible to win.”

Really, a Kobayashi Maru? John carefully didn’t let his opinion of _that_ show on his face,

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you see, with the amount of knowledge we’d given the recruits, they weren’t supposed to be able to disarm the alien device.”

“Oh.”

“It was an exercise to see how they’d cope with a loss.”

“Ah. Sorry.” 

Reynolds gave John a wry grin, “No worries Colonel. We’ve got plenty of data from the other three weeks.”

John barked out a short laugh in response, hoo boy, yeah, the week following Scott’s lead especially had been… _Interesting_. If it weren’t for the fact that John had been painfully aware that he’d get them all failed by taking over, he’d have been tempted to let his AFSOC training shine through and run the ops for the kid. He certainly knew that James had been tempted, despite Scott technically outranking her both in reality and for the purposes of the exercise.

Master Sergeant Greer discretely stared at the back of Colonel Sheppard’s distinctly non-regulation hair as he mooched down the hallway, everything about the man screamed that he couldn’t give a damn. That walk, that slouch, the way his uniform was improperly bloused, the way the man hadn’t even bothered to properly tie his own laces.

The rumours surrounding the Atlantis CO had been circling for years, lackadaisical crop duster, unwilling soldier, disgraced black ops pilot, badass. Ironically it was his fellow marines who had the most complementary things to say about the guy. It was a large part of why he’d always made it a point to respect the guy’s rank, if nothing else. If Sheppard’s marines were to be believed the guy was no Telford, no unnecessary weight throwing to be found here. Of course, the opposing opinions mostly came from his fellow marines too, they were usually the ones repeating the more uncomplimentary scuttlebutt the loudest. Black Mark, killed his CO, coward who’d been in Antarctica by choice when there was a war on, only got his position because he’d been screwing Weir.

Greer… Well, Greer was willing to wait and see. Ronald was well-aware that Landry disliked the guy. Landry disliked _him_ too, so that was at least one thing he had in common with the Atlantis CO.

If nothing else Greer knew the guy was burning the candle at both ends, he’d leave at the crack of dawn for those stupid training exercises they’d forced them all through and head up to the meeting levels during the nights. Still, the guy’s hair was ridiculous, if the idiot wanted to go around skirting regulations when there were so damned many brass on base there was no helping him.

That evening’s IOA meeting was just as interminable as Sheppard feared it would be. Carl Strom especially was an obstructionist, power grabbing _jerk_. The whole room was filled with political movers and shakers from all corners of the world, Sheppard was sure if he looked down, he’d find his gun glowing blue in the presence of so many bureaucrats. Camile Wray seemed alright, well, for a member of the IOA that is. But she wielded no real power. At first Sheppard had thought the HR rep was a new Chinese Representative, and had almost embarrassed himself, but Shen Xioayi had marched into the room, and given Strom a death glare.

The internal politics and infighting would almost have been amusing, were it not for the fact that these assholes held the fate of Pegasus in their hands. Seven weeks. The Expedition had been stuck on Earth for seven whole weeks already.

Oh, the first few days had been enjoyable… he supposed. The temporary week’s grace period when he’d gotten the opportunity to take Teyla, Ronon, and McKay around San Francisco had been kinda fun. Kanaan had made all sorts of weird faces at the junk food and the crowds, even though John had taken care to ease them into the idea of the sheer number of people you’d get in a large modern city. They’d gotten all sorts of weird toys for Torren, including a whole bunch of stuff Rodney had insisted would help the kid’s brain develop. Amelia had vanished with Ronon for an afternoon, they’d both come back grinning secretively, weighed down with shopping bags. The huge amount of stuff they’d brought back had eventually turned out to be a truly excessive number of knives and other weaponry, to John’s secret relief. They’d pulled their disappearing act right next to the sex shop end of the Castro District, and John’s imagination had been running rampant given the shape of some of their packages.

The time-wasting introductory section of the day’s IOA meeting rolled to a close, practically the same people attended every meeting, you’d think they’d all know who each other was by now. John settled in for another evening of trying to appease the politicians, Carl Strom said something outrageous,

“Well, it’s clear to me Mr Woolsey, that the scientists at Area 51 should be allowed to take away whatever they like from Atlantis base now that it’s safe in Earth’s hands, and do the research that the Expedition was supposed to be carrying out from day one.”

“With all due respect Carl,” Woolsey countered, in a tone that said he meant anything but, “You’ve read the reports, I know you have. Do you really want scientists with no real idea of the risks involved turning things on willy-nilly? Think of the supposedly innocuous device that turned out to make people explode. We lost good people that day.”

John couldn’t keep quiet, “How about the foolhardiness of taking apart yet another perfectly intact piece of Ancient architecture and transporting it to Area 51?” John looked into Strom’s cold shark-like eyes, he narrowed his gaze, taking on the expression that some of his Marines had assured him still made Genii run away weeping like little girls, “You do remember what happened last time you did that right?” John did his own shark impression, with a toothy, unamused grin, “I had to clean up the mess. A huge chunk of Nellis base is still molten slag. _And_ we still don’t know if the Command Chair is intact under all that rubble or if your last orders destroyed this planet’s best line of defence.”

There was an exclamation of outrage, and the squabbling started. Sheppard had long since given up trying to play nice with these assclowns.

Oh, he knew he’d surprised them all with his political manoeuvrings, Sheppard had made great use of catching the IOA on the backfoot like that to get all sorts of concessions out of them. Being one of the majority shareholders at Sheppard Industries, and keeping that fact _very_ quiet, meant he’d been well-used to dealing with political sharks that were even less inclined to part with cash than this lot, before he’d come of age. Case in point – the Daedalus, and Caldwell were still assigned to patrol Pegasus. There’d been talk of withdrawing even their presence in the early days.

However, they’d eventually wised-up to the fact that he knew how to handle himself in a meeting and were back to trying to scuttle Lantis. John had resigned himself to the fact that even if he did manage to save the Ancient city, it was likely he’d never get to see her as a member of the SGC again, let alone the man in charge. He fully expected to be out on his ear back in Big Air Force before all this was over, possibly even at some posting that was even more of a punishment than Antarctica had been intended to be.

Strom opened his fool mouth and got going on yet another rant,

“I fail to see why the people at the Pentagon have been turning a blind eye to your _dangerous_ willingness to risk the lives of everyone on Earth by continuing your presence in Pegasus…”

John bit back the urge to snap at the man and let Woolsey field that one. It was going to be a long night. He met Wray’s eye with a wry grin, and let the argument wash over him. She at least looked mildly sympathetic, Xiaoyi’s voice cut through the moment like a knife,

“Speaking of which, what are we going to do with your Wraith Colonel?”

_His_ Wraith?

John’s heart sank. Strom’s eyes fairly glittered with greed, he added his usual infuriating two cents,

“An example of a being that is functionally immortal. The progress to human medicine could be invaluable.”

Aw crap. John had been expecting this line of discussion to pop up for a while. Queep, it was always the same. Though John figured he was stretching the definition of the term when these damned meetings directly pertained to the fate of Atlantis. He’d hoped he’d have a few more days until they realised Todd was in a weird, he wants to eat us, officially he doesn’t exist, and he isn’t human, so does he even have rights, limbo.

It was going to be a _really_ long night.

At 0900 the next day Sheppard was waiting impatiently in the conference room up on level 6. Within the levels of their section of Cheyenne that non-SGC personnel were cleared for, level 6 was a weird mixture of high security staff that were _also_ mostly people not in the know about what was going on downstairs. Up here it was all genuine NORAD personnel, and big Air Force - Sheppard kept getting odd looks for his lack of rank insignias, and his hair.

If it weren’t for the fact that the checkpoint staff all knew him on sight Sheppard might have been in trouble for a moment when an angry looking Major looked to be on the verge of saying something about his black garrison uniform in the secondary lifts up to the surface. Thankfully the Marine MSgt manning the level 11 checkpoint, Greer, had the wherewithal to interject with a pointed,

“Good to see you this morning _Colonel_!”

Interrupting the officious looking junior officer before he could get started, but eesh. _This_ was why Sheppard didn’t leave Pegasus when he could help it. Mitchell, the closest thing the SGC had to a soldier’s soldier had given Sheppard a respectful nod at the level 6 checkpoint. He’d been heading in the opposite direction, down into the mountain, and since Mitchell at least seemed to pass muster in the Major’s eyes, any further complaints he might have had were quieted.

Sheppard would be grateful when NORAD finally moved out of the upper levels of the SGC’s section of the mountain and over to Peterson. It had been due to happen late last year, the secretive section of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex that they were buried in finally being given over fully to SGC operations. However, between the chaos in the aftermath of Atlantis’ splashdown in San Francisco, Area 51’s aerial bombardment by Wraith, and general bureaucratic stonewalling, the timetable for the move had been set back by at least three months.

Sheppard stifled a yawn, and took a moment to regret some of his less than diplomatic phrasing in his AAR on yesterday’s exercise, he’d still been wired after the unproductive IOA meeting last nig- well, alright, this morning, and _might _have vented some spleen when he shouldn’t have. Eh, it was fine, he hadn’t yet submitted the paperwork, he could rework it. With a cursory knock on the door, Sheppard let himself into the smaller meeting room and looked around. Up here it was obvious NORAD had a bigger budget to spend on the niceties than within the SGC proper, Sheppard hoped they didn’t gut the place too badly when the time came. That’s assuming the SGC hadn’t kicked him out on his ass in the meantime.

Part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for the brass to finally get fed up of him and kick him back to Big Air Force. Sheppard was well-aware that no one was grooming _him _for a senior officer’s position; he’d been military commander of Atlantis for long enough that they’d have reason to turf him out on the basis of time served at one duty station alone.

The meeting in the conference room with Reynolds was an odd one, understandably all the young lieutenants were visibly excited. Even Johansen, who was usually remarkably cool under pressure, looked nervous. But up here Reynolds really couldn’t say much, just issue them the security passes that allowed them basic access to the SGC levels.

John had raised an eyebrow ironically at Reynolds for all the pomp and circumstance, they both shared the clearance level for free reign in the most sensitive sections of the SGC. But at the lieutenants’ ages, new assignments, especially plum roles in highly classified, special access projects like the Stargate programme were still a pretty big deal.

“Good morning people. Nice to see you all bright eyed and bushy tailed on this fine day.”

John _did not_ roll his eyes at the ironic tone in Reynolds’ voice, it was hardly _his _fault the IOA meeting last night had run until four in the morning. He’d taken a leaf out of McKay’s book, and eaten a couple of pro-plus pills, as well as his usual coffee and two plain slices of toast at breakfast in the mess. It wasn’t quite as effective as the non-FDA approved uppers that Carson would occasionally give them in the First Year when things had gotten dire, but he no longer felt like he’d fall asleep any second.

“Now you’ll all be getting the basic tour, before we ship you off to the Alpha site.” Reynolds eyed Sheppard’s gear approvingly, and gestured with his casted arm, “Look to your leader people, he’s already fully kitted out for going offworld.”

Sheppard really hoped Landry had been kidding about the alpha site stage of the training. He was needed here to keep the IOA wolves at bay dammit. But signs were not looking good if Reynolds’ was anything to go by.

James eyed Sheppard’s equipment speculatively, while TJ started asking about what medical equipment he thought was needed beyond the mandatory gear for offworld activity. The mismatched group started making their way down into the mountain, or in Sheppard’s case, _back_ down into the mountain. Scott was trailing along behind them, looking starstruck at even the boring equipment housed in the NORAD section of the complex.

They were just about to start their basic tour of the SGC facility, starting with the less sensitive half of Dr Jackson’s lab on level 18, when the Unscheduled Offworld Activation alarm sounded. The three LTs all jumped, but John had spent enough time wandering the halls of the SGC lately that the noise of the sirens barely rated an acknowledgement these days.

Reynolds’ lifted his hand to his radio, and listened to the chatter on the other end, a concerned frown growing on his face.

“On my way sir.”

John blinked, sure he was on the outs with Landry, the way he’d just spent the last month was proof of that. But surely? If it was an all hands-on deck situation?

“We’ve got a foothold situation people.”

Immediately Scott volunteered, “Sir we can help!”

Sheppard tried to read his fellow Colonel’s expression, squinting warily when Reynolds wouldn’t meet his eye. Dammit, Shep _knew_ that Reynolds was one of Landry’s, but really? Was this any time for politics?

“Reynolds…” Sheppard bit out, “Is now really the time to play the popularity contest the brass keep trying to push on us?”

He resisted the urge to gesture towards the broken arm, but his fellow colonel seemed to get the message. An unreadable expression flickered across Reynold’s face, there and gone again so quickly that if he didn’t know better Sheppard would have thought he imagined it. As it was Sheppard bitterly contemplated his ongoing unpopularity with the brass, even now all these years, and several world-saving events, later. With a look that wasn’t capitulation, Reynolds told them,

“Floors 27 and 28 are already inaccessible. General Landry is missing. It looks like Colonel Mitchell has been compromised but I don’t have any more info.”

The two colonels fell into planning what they’d do once they got down there, by necessity Sheppard agreed that it was better that they split up, though he didn’t like it,

“Look I get it. Better operational security if you head up and secure topside, then head back down. It’s _fine_. Just make sure the Pentagon don’t get it into their heads to blow us all up okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:-  
A couple of lines of dialogue is directly lifted from the SG-1 episode Proving Ground. 
> 
> Queep - USAF pilot slang for any sort of work/duty that _isn't_ flying. (Usually paperwork)
> 
> Whilst I hate when authors do this - I'm very new to the writing side of SGA fandom, and being honest fairly new to SGA fandom generally (sorry :- SG-1 and SGU were both appreciated and loved first, SGA broadcasting rights were not treated well here so it took an age for me to get around to watching the show), so please excuse any irregularities with the tags! 
> 
> Not entirely sure how to go, this thing is mostly gen, but almost everyone who's ever been in any version of Stargate ever shows up at some point, and most of the canon relationships are acknowledged but really aren't the point/focus of the story at all, and there's some hints of a relationship for our lead characters but they're caught up in a life or death situation here! in tag form.
> 
> I've been thinking of this thing as primarily Stargate Atlantis - but plenty of SG-1 regulars feature, and given the cast of thousands nature of the franchise, there's quite a few Stargate Universe people getting their moments too. This tale is probably horribly derivative, and owes a huge debt to many stalwart authors of SGA fandom, as well as _the_ master of characterisation that is CleanWhiteRoom who transformed SGU fandom back in the day. (CWR wrote what was probably the most believable take on Daniel/Vala and Sheppard more generally that I've ever seen, and in both cases they were _background_ characters... Anyone else remember 'Hey I just met you this is crazy -> dial the city of awesome -> call me maybe?' 
> 
> Cheeky excerpt from Mathematique (which alas is permanently unfinished) of Young contemplating Shep's suitability for a particular mission (I really can't reccie their work highly enough):
> 
> _"Sheppard though—Sheppard was perfect. He was enough of a closet intellectual that he could_  
go toe to toe with any of the science staff if it suited him, which it usually didn’t. The man had the  
most laid-back command style to ever survive an ascent up the SGC chain of command. But  
behind Sheppard’s MENSA membership, his laissez-faire leadership style, and his SoCal  
veener, was something hard-edged. Young had never seen him in action, in real action, but he’d  
heard enough water cooler talk to get a feel for the guy’s rep. Telford had been the one who’d  
put it best: “Brain of a nerd, heart of a surfer, enthusiasm of a kid, nerves of a test pilot, and soul  
of a stone cold badass.” Yup. Sheppard was perfect."
> 
> Ahem hope that wasn't breaking any unwritten rule!
> 
> (Guilt for Dreaming people - apologies, yes this Stargate thing has been the big distraction!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foothold situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahaha - I hope you enjoy the latest chapter.
> 
> Again this thing is unbetaed so all mistakes are my own. (You can't have them, they're mine! Mine! All mine!) So please do feel free point out anything painfully obvious if you spot it!

** Chapter 2 **

John nodded tightly at Reynolds as the other man left. Still mulling over the situation, he turned to his team and started rattling out instructions,

“Tamara, I need you and Scott to get to the Security and CCTV bunker at level 16. It’s – look you need to make it look like that’s _not_ what you’re aiming for.”

“The secondary armouries are on level 16 and 19…. Sir.”

The belated sir normally wouldn’t make John pause, but in this situation not following orders was liable to get people killed. And it wasn’t just the green members of his trainee team that he was concerned about. Scott had picked a _hell_ of a moment to gain an attitude,

“Yes Scott, I _know. E_veryone here is a friend or colleague, we don’t want to kill either our friends or our colleagues, do we?” Sheppard peered at the kid meaningfully, Scott quickly looked away, his ears flushing pink. Satisfied, John continued, “Since we already had them, stick with the Intars. They fire non-lethal incapacitating shots which is what we want.”

James rolled her eyes. Ah, he’d been expecting that from her at least,

“James. What do we want?”

“Non-lethal incapacitating shots sir!”

“Good. I’m glad we’re all on the same page.”

John couldn’t help the sarcastic tone that slipped into his voice, he could see TJ hiding a grin. At least she understood,

“Now there’s an access shaft that lets you get around every level of the SGC in the hall – it’s behind the hatch marked Silo CMC987. Scott, Johansen I want you to go to the security bunker. Double time it, for all that it gives _you_ easy access to every level, it also provides whatever we’re up against the same advantage - it’s effectively one long vertical shooting range. Level 16 is only two levels up, so I think it’s worth the risk.”

James exchanged another look with TJ. John took a moment to let a wave of pure _exhaustion_ wash over him, he wished he’d gotten more than two hours of sleep last night. John continued in a more emphatic tone,

“Look, I need you two to make your way up to the security office so we can get a good idea of what we’re up against. Tamara, I want you to trigger the secondary lockdown protocol that can be set-off from that location.” John met both Johansen’s and James’ eyes, “If necessary, you may have to leave us down there. Tamara I’ll trust your judgement call on this one. Here are my command codes.”

Sheppard leant over and rattled off the string of letters in the Nato phonetic alphabet under his breath for TJ’s ears only. Johansen levelly met his gaze, she at least seemed to grasp the severity of what they might be dealing with,

“Got that?”

“Yes sir.”

Sheppard made her repeat it back to him before he was satisfied.

“Good. Now, switch to channel 76c.”

With quizzical expressions his team all did so, John took a moment to be grateful that he was a paranoid bastard; he’d habitually packed his tac vest full of Rodney’s hub capable radios. Twiddling the relevant knob on his own altered gear, he took the time to explain,

“That’s the encrypted Lantean command channel. With any luck whoever’s in charge down there won’t know to look for it. But maintain radio discipline. Scheduled check-in in fifteen.”

Scott looked naively confused,

“Sir?”

Sheppard hoped to god his impatience wasn’t showing, it wouldn’t help anyone,

“Yes Scott?”

“What will you and James be doing?”

“Going to see what there is to see Lieutenant, just like you.”

“But sir!”

“No buts LT, there’s blind spots down there. The cameras won’t show us everything.”

“Then we should back you up!”

“You will be, from the _security bunker_. Where you and” John deliberately used the nickname as he nodded towards her, “TJ will gain control of the base from a position of safety.”

“But!”

“No buts Lieutenant. If anything happens, we’ll need you two to make sure it goes no further.”

John met James’ gaze again, her face was grimly blank, yeah, she knew the stakes alright.

Whilst half of his team used the access hatch to go up, Sheppard and James went down. Down to level 19, and the armoury. Despite what he’d pointedly said to the greener members of his team Sheppard wanted to pick up a few things.

Glad of the Intars they’d all been carrying in preparation for more exercises on the Alpha Site, Sheppard made quick work of the two SFs who’d been guarding the corridor. Checking that they were otherwise healthy, Sheppard took a moment to be grateful that he was fully geared up - in his Pegasus kit too. He quickly bound the pair with plastic cuffs, and with James’ help shoved them into a supply closet before unlocking the armoury.

“Sir? I thought we were sticking with non-lethal means?”

John met her questioning gaze; it was a fair question.

“Yes James, we are.” Shep gestured towards the shadowy shelves, “There’s a few more non-lethal items in there, that I don’t make a habit of carrying on my person.”

Explanation dealt with; John quickly looked around until he found what he was searching for. He grabbed a handful of Wraith stunners, and a few more choice items from Pegasus, before locking the armoury. John was surprised his access code still held - he’d half expected Landry to revoke it the moment this training thing became official. Still, it meant he’d been right to send TJ up to initiate the lockdown. The other two would be more than just safe up there, they’d be genuinely useful.

“Here, take these.” Sheppard passed two wraith stunners over to James, and palmed one for himself, stuffing the other items in the numerous pockets in his tac vest and BDUs.

“Sir?”

“Wraith stunner.” John’s explanation was short and to the point, “Even set on maximum, the Intars don’t pack that much of a punch. If you’re not used to it Wraith tech can put you down for _hours._ We might need those hours Lieutenant.”

James’ response was grim and understanding,

“Yessir.”

They made their way back to the service hatch, and promptly got caught up in a firefight with five SGC personnel. James more than held her own - she took out three of them with her Intar even as John was forced to duck back to the cover of a particularly lumpy section of piping. John sniped at the final airman in their way from his position, and grimaced as he realised just how many sets of restraints he was making his way through. They moved the soldiers to a room where they’d be unlikely to get trampled and moved on. John nodded at James when she signalled that they should keep moving. It seemed the explanation for James’ slightly subpar performance during exercises was one John could sympathise with, the situation needed the frisson that came with a _real_ fight for his 2nd lieutenant to take it seriously. Suddenly after a month of working side by side with her, there was a competent AFSOC officer staring back at him.

John grimaced and handed over a pair of Wraith stun grenades, whilst he didn’t want to expose these kids to the realities of combat sooner than he had to, a guilty part of him was glad that they would see what life at the SGC could be like before they’d committed themselves life and soul to making a living going off world. Guarding the access panel John observed as James carefully made her way down to the floor below.

TJ followed on Scott’s six, they’d taken care to make it look like they were on their way to the armoury and had deliberately taken the long route around to make any observers think they’d just gotten lost. It was disturbing shooting at people wearing the same uniform they were, even with the Intars. TJ wasn’t very good at it either which didn’t help, but the Intars didn’t require accuracy, a glancing shot was enough.

She ducked back around the corner as Lt Scott took down the soldiers in the corridor ahead of them. In about thirty seconds they’d be at the secondary security bunker - hopefully in charge of the whole base. That’s if the codes Colonel Sheppard had given them were valid as he’d claimed they were.

The door to the bunker ponderously slid open. The bulkhead looked like a junction box. Tamara wouldn’t have known it was there if Sheppard hadn’t told them. It certainly hadn’t been in the base layout they’d been told to memorise.

TJ crossed the threshold, keeping an eye on the corridor.

The first thing that clued her in that there might be something wrong was the silence. TJ risked turning to see what the problem was, using the movement to sweep a long curl of blonde hair that had gotten loose out of her eyes. She was completely stunned when she spotted General O’Neill, General Landry, Colonel Mitchell, Vala Mal Doran, and General Kerrigan - the man who’d first briefed her about the programme.

“What the hell is going on here?” Scott was angry, at a quelling look from Landry he blanched and quickly added, “Uh, sirs?”

TJ hovered in the hatchway. From her position awkwardly guarding the door she watched as General O’Neill turned an ironic look on General Landry,

“Hank, I told you this was a _terrible_ idea. We should have just had a cook off.”

Kerrigan, the only face TJ was personally familiar with shot O’Neill a look of fond amusement. TJ found the cognitive dissonance of that mildly disturbing, even as her subconscious chewed over what was going on and spat out an answer that she didn’t much like. There was training, and then there was being played for a fool.

The SF manning the security station let out an exclamation. As one, everyone in the room turned to watch the monitor screens in a sort of passive horror, as several cameras briefly whited out. TJ gave into the inevitable and stepped through the metres-thick doorway into the bunker. She watched in frightened awe; when the picture came back Sheppard and James were working their way through what had previously been a crowded set of labs. Scientists and soldiers were scattered all over the floor, lying like broken dolls throughout the level. Sheppard was tying up everyone with plastic handcuffs systematically as James kept watch. Tamara thought she recognised something in Sheppard’s movements that spoke of the same Special Forces training that she knew Lt James was so proud of, but she didn’t want to voice the opinion in the stunned silence. A silence that deepened as the two figures on the screen started efficiently mowing down more SGC military staff when they got to a corridor. Jack started to slow clap,

“Well done Hank. _Excellent_ work.”

Sheppard pocketed the Wraith stun grenade, regretting the necessity of using the tech, but when it was impossible to separate friend from foe… Well the thoroughly non-lethal tech that Wraith preferred, in order to keep their food _fresh_, was more efficient, and much less likely to do harm than anything Shep knew of in the Milky Way.

Sheppard navigated his way towards the surveillance room, he wanted a sitrep on the situation down below before blindly charging in. Besides, if he remembered correctly the surveillance room held the emergency cache for level 20. Sheppard _knew_ there were caches hidden around the base, he just couldn’t remember what was supposed to be in each of them. He hoped his guess about the contents of this one was accurate.

Casually ducking down to avoid a volley of bullets Sheppard stunned the soldiers guarding the corridor and answered his LT’s unvoiced question,

“James when we get in there grab anything that’s marked RG003. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

“Sir?”

“The SGC got a bulk order of crowd control gear in, just in case they had another mind control incident.”

“Does that sort of thing happen a lot around here?”

John grimaced and skirted around the question, he’d leave _that_ one for the SGC guys to field,

“Never hurts to be prepared Vanessa.”

They were gradually making their way towards the secondary surveillance room, the corridors here were tight enough that the stun grenades were a no go – they’d only take themselves out. The soldiers around the area were putting up quite the resistance, as if they knew what Sheppard was targeting. Even with the Wraith stunners speeding things up, progress was painfully slow going. John stunned the latest airman who’d been unfortunate enough to walk into their path. The guy went down like a sack of logs. John checked he was okay, tied him up, and moved on.

In the back of his mind Sheppard was painfully aware that he’d be getting an earful from Landry about this, but, well, all the personnel were knocked out with tech that had been proven time and again to be safe. Wraith really did like their food fresh. Besides, it a was sound tactical decision, this way there’d be no one to sneak up behind them, and hopefully with Tamara under orders to put everything into lockdown, no way for the enemy to get _to_ everyone above the mountain either.

John looked up at James and realised she was now textbook perfect in her duties. She had his six alright. Feeling proud of his team’s progress Shep checked in with TJ, _TJ_ even a month into training with her every day he still wasn’t quite able to bring himself to call her by that nickname without hesitating - that was _Torren’s_ name, much as the kid was still in San Francisco. John was getting worried, the other team weren’t late for their check in yet, but… That sixth sense that all old soldiers developed was prickling. There was something else going on here.

Precisely on the time the radio crackled,

“Colonel Sheppard?”

John recognised the voice but exercised caution, “Tamara, how’s things going?” Inserting a phrase he’d had them all practice during his time in charge, John added their pre-agreed ‘are you under duress?’ code. She responded in the negative, skilfully disguising it as medic to commander chatter. He _liked _her. Feeling like a class traitor Shep used the dreaded nickname,

“TJ sitrep.”

“We’re monitoring your progress from the security bunker sir. Using your codes we’ve gotten the base into lockdown.”

“Yeah, I heard the alarms, excellent work Lieutenant.”

“…Thank you, sir.”

Johansen still sounded slightly off to John’s ears, John hoped she’d get the message he was trying to convey. He repeated another of their ‘are you under duress?’ codes, again she replied in the negative.

“TJ – how’s the situation up top going? Update on the foothold and Mitchell? You’re our eyes and ears.”

He exchanged a serious look with James, even as they finally got to the surveillance room and Sheppard’s code got them inside. John didn’t sigh to himself, but it was a close thing, there was something _off_ about TJ’s responses he knew it. But right now, he couldn’t afford to think about it, he stunned the handful of SFs in the foyer of the monitoring station with his Wraith stunner, made sure James was still holding her own, and headed for the inner hatch. Using hand signals, they crept their way into to the surveillance room proper. John was going to check out the monitors for himself; he wasn’t entirely convinced he trusted Tamara’s assessment of the situation on level 28.

Mitchell, supposedly holed up in Landry’s office, with most of the senior staff as hostages in the gate room? Now admittedly he’d seen stranger things in Pegasus. But he’d believe it when he saw it with his own eyes. Sheppard had to admit, as he stunned the last of the guys manning the room, that he was _glad _he’d spent so many hours, days… weeks… over the years stuck in a puddlejumper with his team, and by extension, McKay. They’d whiled away the time on some of those interminable journeys playing such classic games, as “How would _you_ survive in a zombie apocalypse?” and other such classics as, “How would you take over the SGC?”, and “Which IOA representative would you kidnap, assassinate, or employ?” Between Ronon’s ruthlessness, Teyla’s knowledge of the human psyche, and McKay’s encyclopaedic knowledge of the layout of Stargate Command, John felt he had a fair to middling shot of getting out of this alive.

Cameron listened to Lieutenant Johansen hesitantly feed Sheppard false information, turned to Landry, and taking his career in his hands said,

“Sir, I _told_ you this was a bad idea.”

He probably wouldn’t have worked up the courage to stand up to the brass, but Landry was an alright sort. Besides, O’Neill had said the exact same thing a few minutes before. From the sour expression on his face General O’Neill was on the verge of saying it _again_, just much less diplomatically. Mitchell was proven right a moment later,

“Oh for cryin’ out loud! It’s a _terrible_ idea! I said so! Several times!”

“Jack…” Landry growled.

“Hank.” Jack replied in a supercilious tone. “I take it you only _skimmed_ the Atlantis expedition reports?”

Landry flushed, Cam tried not to cringe in sympathetic embarrassment,

“What’s your point?”

Jack gestured at the monitors, and the tiny figures of Sheppard and James advancing through the base,

“That’s John ‘_I killed sixty Genii in an evening’_ Sheppard. Mr ‘_I rode a nuke into a Wraith Hive, blew it up, and survived_, **_twice_**!’ The man, who, if you’d bothered to read his full jacket…” Landry opened his mouth as if to interrupt, O’Neill mowed straight over him, “you’d know that when he was still a Captain, he walked out of a secret enemy base in the Balkans, with all the intel his mission needed after being MIA for three months. He near singlehandedly prevented an escalation to nuclear war. That’s despite having been far too close to a 20-kiloton test explosion himself. Sheppard walked several hundred miles to get us that intel, with a broken collarbone, having spent three months as a POW in the care of people to whom the Geneva Convention was a pleasant fairy-tale. When a team was sent in to investigate the situation, they found everyone in the base who could get word out to the other side about the leak dead. Killed with a US-issue ka-bar. Sheppard’s ka-bar. Need I continue?”

Landry scowled.

“Besides, his tactics have blown the whole point of this exercise anyway! _Half_ of his damned team now _know_ that it is an exercise. And what about the lockdown? This is a _bit_ more disruptive than asking everyone to stay out of a few corridors Hank.”

O’Neill whipped a neon green yoyo out of his pocket and proceeded to play with it as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Behind O’Neill, Lt Scott squirmed embarrassedly, like a child watching his parents fight for the first time. Cam hoped like hell that he’d never been that young, though he had a sinking feeling most of the SGC thought he was still that naive.

O’Neill started doing tricks, Cam thought he recognised walk the dog… Scott’s eyes all but bugged out of his head. Lt Johansen was faring better; she’d taken the initial confusion in stride and was quietly, if pointedly, following instructions. Cam could see the beginnings of an alarming hero-worship glinting in Scott’s expression. Though to be fair, Cam hadn’t been aware of that bit of history – _Shep_ had been involved in the Balkans mess? He’d never worn the chest candy for it.

Cam eyed up Shep and James’ progress through the SGC on the security monitors, well, what they could see of it. O’Neill didn’t seem surprised, though Cam certainly was, but the man seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding blind spots that should not be there. No one had expected Sheppard to send his team to the Security Bunker with his lockdown codes. They really should have known better.

“Well Hank,” O’Neill’s voice was so sarcastic you could practically feel the ice dripping from it, “What do you want to do now?”

Landry glared as O’Neill nonchalantly started spinning the yoyo like a top from his finger. Vala was looking far too interested in what the senior general was doing for anyone’s peace of mind, but Mitchell was trying to ignore that. Cameron wanted to hold his head in his hands and groan. The SGC was currently crippled. Sheppard’s command codes had put the base into full lockdown, which meant override codes were required to move between each level, let alone get to the surface. It was an effective tactic, only a handful of people on base had the required rank to do anything about the doors, let alone enter the lockdown override. From what Lt Johansen had nervously stated, Sheppard had told her how to initiate the self-destruct from here too.

The SF manning the security station was fielding complaints from all over the base.

Mitchell had to admit, if only to himself, that he agreed with O’Neill’s assessment.

Landry wanted him to go up against _that_?

As the _villain_ of the piece?

Oh boy… He was not getting paid enough for this crap.

The only sound in the surveillance bunker for the next few minutes was the quiet swish of the yoyo.

O’Neill and Landry were _still_ arguing. Scott couldn’t believe that the two generals were fighting like small children. It was alarmingly like watching pre-schoolers fight over who got to play with the finger-paints (Scott should know, his extended family back in Texas had more than enough pre-schoolers spread out amongst his numerous cousins’ and aunties’ kids), not least because the senior general had started playing with a _yoyo_ of all the darned things.

“Sirs?”

That was Mitchell, Landry scowled,

“Yes Mitchell? Have you got something constructive to add to this oh so enlightening conversation?”

Landry’s frustration was blatant from his snappish response, Scott felt embarrassed that he was witnessing this.

“Uh… Nossir, only, well, Sheppard is heading for the security station on level 20.”

“Crap.” General O’Neill turned to Landry, and gestured at the screen, “This is FUBAR.”

“Not yet it isn’t. We were prepared for this.” Landry looked pleased with himself, he nodded to the SF manning the station, “Turn on the footage.”

General O’Neill raised a quizzical eyebrow, Scott still couldn’t quite believe how rude the generals were being to each other. Landry’s tone was _so_ smug. O’Neill was _still_ doing tricks with that yoyo; he had the puck swinging from a frame formed from out of the string. Landry nodded to the SF who pressed a button,

“We’ve played out these scenarios often enough that we’ve got pre-prepared tapes to play the training scenarios on the screens the trainees will have access to.”

“Yes _trainees_ Hank. **_Trainees_**.” General O’Neill gestured angrily at the screen as Lt Colonel Sheppard and 2nd Lieutenant James swiftly knocked out everyone in the corridor leading to the security station, and then just as efficiently, took down everyone inside the room. “Do they look like trainees to you?!”

General Landry seemed to puff up at that, whilst General Kerrigan looked on, amused.

“Oh, to hell with it!” O’Neill abruptly pocketed the yoyo and turned to Mitchell, “Let’s get down there and finish the damned training exercise.”

Mitchell hesitated, Scott got it, Landry was Mitchell’s CO, not O’Neill. Landry nodded,

“Go ahead Colonel. We’d better take the elevator Jack, they’re moving quickly.”

Landry, Mitchell, Vala and O’Neill filed out. Mitchell was on the radio the whole time, coordinating with other people on base. The whole procession rapidly disappeared, leaving Scott and Lt Johansen alone with a still amused looking General Kerrigan, and the SF; who’d begun to sweat.

Sheppard eyed up the personnel from the security station on level 20. Huh, okay then. Mitchell _was _currently holed up in Landry’s office, and level 28 _was_ indeed a mess. But at least the lockdown procedures were in place. The base was clamped down tight, hopefully that would prevent the brass from blowing a crater the size of a city in the middle of Colorado. He tried to swap between cameras in the office, but the system was being glitchy. Giving that up he swapped to the gate room – the iris was firmly shut. Nothing else would be dialling in to surprise them. His codes had been good for that much at least.

The camera finally cooperated, giving Shep a view of the conference room. There was… something, angular yet disturbingly organic sat in the middle of the large mahogany table. It wasn’t any tech that Sheppard recognised, but then again, he knew that didn’t mean much – after all, his expertise, such as it was, was in turning on Ancienty stuff, and killing Wraith.

“James, any idea what we’re looking at here?”

Lt James squinted at the screen, “Nossir.”

“Yeah… Me neither.”

He took a moment to regret that his team of trainees didn’t contain McKay. Eyeing up the worried, yet eager expression on her face, Sheppard decided then and there that he wasn’t going to risk James’ life against whatever this was.

John made sure that they raided every hidden locker in the surveillance station. He hit pay dirt with the next crate, it was full to the brim with riot gear, there was tear gas, tasers, body armour. It was the exact sort of general crowd dispersing kit that he’d been hoping to get his hands on at the armoury.

John was picky about what he took from the cache, he was already carrying what many would deem to be an excessive amount of gear. His hard-earned Pegasus instincts didn’t allow him to feel anything but naked unless he was carrying _something_ about his person. In this case something happened to consist of the wraith tech he’d picked up at the armoury, a zat, an Intar, and his standard Pegasus kit. Which included several knives, the standard issue 9mm Beretta that he habitually kept in an ankle holster ever since he’d upgraded his main hand weapon to a double-stack magazine, .45 Para-Ordnance P-14 (which sat in a left-hand draw thigh holster, with the Intar in the P-14’s usual spot), and a whole load of other miscellaneous objects that didn’t _look _like weaponry but would more than make do in a pinch. (He’d well learnt his lessons there, even though in Pegasus that sort of preparedness didn’t always help.)

However, the crowd dispersal measures in this glorified footlocker were the real goldmine. They cautiously started packing up as much of the equipment from the cache as John reckoned, they could carry without it becoming an encumbrance. Sheppard handed over several smoke grenades.

“James, I want you to take out Mitchell.” He saw the feral gleam in her eyes and added, “_Nonlethal_ means only LT. Trust me, you _don’t_ want to be responsible for killing SG-1’s team leader.”

James gave him a pleased little smile, clearly happy with the excuse to take down the leader of SG-1. Good. If she was thinking about that she wouldn’t be thinking too hard about what he’d have to do. John wasn’t sure yet what the plan was, but he knew he’d have to come up with it quickly.

“Okay then, let’s move out.”

John slid down the access ladder, he halted his progress at level 27, throwing up sparks as the grommets on his boots scraped the metal. Crap, he hoped no one spotted them cos of his haste.

He made it to the designated spot, and James’ six. He dropped the wraith stun grenade in her wake, the thing detonated just as she barged her way into Landry’s office. Following her progress from his perch on the spiral staircase above her. There was a cry of “Hey!” and a thump, followed by James locking Mitchell into the office, taking the red phone outside with her. She looked up to where she knew Sheppard would be perched and nodded.

They both eyed the device sat plum in the centre of the conference room table.

Feeling petty John shot the thing two times with the zat. Its calibration was for shit, but this close he couldn’t miss. He’d been tempted to go straight for that third shot, but they might need the device intact to undo whatever the hell it had done. Gingerly Sheppard hefted it up and tried to work out if it was dead. Nothing _seemed_ to be happening.

As a precaution Sheppard signalled that James should hold her position, and stay the hell away from the creepy doohickey, before using the spiral stairs to drop down to the control room on level 28, which, unlike the conference level didn’t have the blast shield down. Through the window that overlooked the gate room from the control level Sheppard saw that contrary to the all-clear from the camera footage Harriman, and bizarrely Sgt Siler were sat in the centre of the gate, blocking the event horizon in such a way that John wasn’t sure a connection could even be made. Would a person sat bang in the middle of the central hole prevent a connection forming in the same way burying the gate would? Or would they just get disintegrated like someone standing in the path of an unstable vortex?

James clicked to let John know that she was in position, John clicked back a request for a headcount. She clicked off two hostages and seven hostiles. Crap. That was two more than he’d spotted. He took a steadying breath and jinked around the short gap of corridor to the doorframe, rattling off three shots with the wraith stunner. Three bodies fell to the ground.

That left four.

“Sheppard! Give it up! You’ll never shut off the device in time!”

O’Neill!? They had O’Neill.

Why was he even here?!

Was… Was that a cup of tea he was holding?!

Wait, _another_ device?

Crap.

“You’ll never win! We’ll blow the mountain to kingdom come before letting you take it back!!”

There was maniacal laughter.

What the hell.

This was completely illogical.

No forget illogical, they’d bypassed that some time ago and come out the other side into completely fucking batshit _insane_.

Sheppard had the control room. He could do this.

When he glanced back from doublechecking that the lockdown was holding, Harriman and Siler had joined O’Neill in whatever the hell he was doing. They all had creepy as all hell space spider crabs on their heads, their expressions were unnervingly gleeful all things considered. Somehow the little mug of tea made it all worse. It was so incongruous. Sheppard could see the paper tag from the teabag dangling down over the older man’s knuckles.

John dashed back to the control room overlooking the gateroom and tried not to make it too obvious that he was panicking.

From his slightly elevated position he could see O’Neill fiddling with the whatever the hell it was that had been hidden behind the gate, casually leaning over, mug in hand as if he hadn’t just declared that it was capable of blowing the whole mountain to itty bitty pieces. It kinda resembled the Omega 13 device, all blue glowy lights and twinkly bits. It hung ominously in mid-air like the creepy Dalek sphere thingy in the most recent Doctor Who finale they’d gotten in Lantis.

How the hell was he going to get all the way back there before O’Neill hit the hostages?

It was pure dumb luck that he hadn’t taken umbrage when John had taken out those thralls of his.

Heh. Thralls.

If he weren’t quietly freaking out about a foothold situation involving his boss, Shep would be geeking out about Half Life – oh who was he kidding he _was_ geeking out. John was a modern kinda guy, he could multitask.

Oh wait. 

That just might work.

Sheppard cautiously entered his command code into the control room console and was pleasantly surprised when both blast doors clanged shut cutting off the gateroom from the rest of the base.

They still worked then.

Why the hell _hadn’t_ they worked?

It made no sense. The CCTV footage had shown everything was locked down. For security purposes there was no way to override a lockdown from within the gate room. Mitchell certainly hadn’t been screwing around with anything from the way he’d been sat in the office like a fat cat at an all-expenses paid for business retreat.

Making sure to wave his most infuriating wave, with a cheeky little flourish John entered the code that dealt with the iris (_again_) and watched with satisfaction as it shut just slowly enough that he could see their expressions of astonishment as it was too late to do anything about it.

That just left the Omega 13 thingy. Even though he’d shot the mind control device, and Mitchell was bewilderedly asking “What in the _hell_ is going on?!” through the door of Landry’s office, proving that the thing in the conference room had stopped whatever it was doing. John needed to get his people to safety and get to the thing in the gate room.

Sheppard hauled ass back up to the conference room level and started setting things up with Lt James’ capable assistance. Sheppard put the plan together from the scraps of Rodney’s rants about Carter’s dangerous workarounds to compensate for the lack of a DHD, and his grumbling about the inadequacy of the 24-hour quarantine protocol at Midway given the SGC’s woeful gate room security. If it were Lantis he’d have five or six solutions that didn’t involve dangerously playing chicken with the gate, but this wasn’t Lantis. That had been made painfully obvious several dozen times over by now.

He started hastily gathering the up canisters of smoke grenades and tear gas into groupings that would best circulate into the gate room. Oh, John knew that if he asked, James would readily take his place in this madness, but he refused to ask something so dangerous of someone so young. Her life was only just beginning. Shep, well, it might just help Atlantis’s case if he managed to save the brass from whatever the hell situation had led to this.

James was a terrific soldier, after conferring in hand signals they split up and set up the equipment he’d need for this little standoff. It was a good thing he’d picked up several wraith stunners, the firing pins were just what he needed to keep the blast door air seals from fully forming.

Sheppard stepped into the corridor, used his code on the blast door, and prepared to duck.

Trying not to laugh O’Neill called out,

“Sheppard! Give it up! We know you’re there! You’re outmanned and outgunned!”

O’Neill had no clue what the colonel was doing, but he had a feeling Landry wouldn’t like the result all that much. Sheppard was a fellow alumnus of the kind of wet works ops that officially didn’t exist. Like recognised like.

He took a sip of the herbal tea he’d made in Landry’s office; it was the little things. Hank couldn’t discipline _him_ for showing his displeasure with this whole affair. There was a damned good reason they’d moved these exercises off world, Jack _did not_ like the way Hank was trying to play politics with this little attempt at lesson teaching. Jack shot Landry a quelling glare from his position at the foot of the ramp. He nodded calmly to Colonels Dixon and Ronson; they were good sports, agreeing to join in with the wargames at the eleventh hour like this.

The small blast door to the left-hand side whooshed open, Jack nearly sloshed hot lemon verbena everywhere, what the hell did Sheppard think he was doing? A round of anti-riot ammunition shot through the door in Sheppard’s direction. Siler and Harriman were both far too into these little exercises. What was it with the normally timid sergeants and the fake footholds?

The other blast door opened, this time Siler and Harriman’s shots were joined by a volley of rounds from Colonel Dixon and Colonel Ronson. The theoretically nonlethal rubber bullets were much more realistic than the blanks they’d used when O’Neill had first dreamed up the graduation scenario, he had to admit. However, given that Sheppard had frequently proven he had the survival instincts of a lemming when it came to protecting his people, Jack was a bit worried the colonel would test that theory to breaking point,

“Sheppard! Final warning!”

He looked around meeting Siler and Harriman’s gazes from underneath the ridiculous rubber hats they were all wearing, the thick silence in response was gradually becoming more and more alarming. Jack took a large gulp of his tea, and grimaced at the taste, doctor’s orders or no, he missed coffee. Herbal tea just wasn’t the same. Admittedly, lack of caffeine did help him patiently wait and see how this would play out.

Sheppard appeared in the corridor for a moment, perfectly outlined and a prime target.

What the hell?!

The guy was usually a better soldier than that.

They all went for it.

Rubber bullets flew towards the figure outlined in the doorway.

Sheppard back peddled wildly and vanished around the corner, the blast door ponderously drawing closed behind him.

What?

Jack shared a look of disbelief with Dixon. The others probably didn’t see it, given that they’d never been ground pounders, but that had been a ridiculously idiotic move on Sheppard’s part. What was going on in the man’s head?

Jack risked a glance at everyone else, Landry was looking vindicated, as if the apparent impasse proved some sort of point. The expression looked especially conceited from underneath the rubber chicken hat. Jack took a large gulp of herbal pondwater, scratched absently at the sweat building up under his own stupid headgear, and tried not to look like he was waiting for something to happen.

A huge bang echoed through the gate room from the sealed off corridor beyond.

The room reverberated with the force of it.

Jack sent a glare Hank’s way; this was getting out of hand.

Cloying whiffs of teargas wafted in from the gap between the blast doors, which was alarming on several levels. The things were supposed to be airtight, and it was coming in from both directions. What the hell was going on?!

The gate started dialling.

As one they all turned to look at it.

The iris was still shut so. Crap, was a team coming in hot? They’d all been warned to dial the Alpha Site today, hadn’t they? Jack shot a panicky look in Landry’s direction. He did not want to be responsible for someone getting trapped in a firefight off world. They’d moved most of these exercises out of the SGC for a damned good reason.

The gate dialling sounded louder than usual.

The tear gas that was still seeping into the gate room had them all tearing up, the air was getting thick and choking. _Oh_, through the tears in his eyes Jack realised that it wasn’t just the corridors outside, thick smoke was leaking in through the air vents too.

There was movement from the control room.

Lieutenant James waved cheerily at everyone from behind the safety of the toughened glass.

What the hell.

The iris opened ponderously. Screeching loudly.

In the control room James was setting up what looked like the entire contents of the crowd control section of the SGC armoury. Even as O’Neill stared admiringly at the portable blast shields, he had to wonder. How the hell had she gotten access to that? _Why_ was she setting it up?

The fifth chevron locked.

It was weird seeing that without Walter announcing it, Jack had the feeling the guy might have started doing it automatically regardless, the habit long ingrained by years manning the gate. But… Well, it was getting difficult to breathe without coughing.

Wait hadn’t that blast shield up there been shut a minute ago?

The sixth chevron lit up.

There was a crash from above, Sheppard fell through the observation window, shards of supposedly bullet-proof glass raining down around him. He’d chosen the conference room level to drop down from. Jack heard Landry and Dixon both exclaim loudly in disbelief; it was like hearing in stereo when one of the speakers had a slight lag. Sheppard tumbled down from the story above, blood smearing the glass behind him.

Jack saw it all as if it was slow motion. Deadly shards shattered on the concrete. Sheppard rolled on landing and came up firing. Landry went down, Dixon was next. Sheppard was scrambling towards them – he ran through the arc of the gate just as it connected.

Holy fu- had he just? No. Death by disintegration over something so… No. No!

Jack was relieved when three more shots rang out even as he was frustrated by the kawoosh blocking his sightline. There was a grunt of exertion. The splashback finally – _finally _– settled back to a stable wormhole before the distinctive blarting noise of disconnection echoed loudly in the quiet.

By the time Jack spun around to face the back of the room again, everyone else was down and Sheppard was pointing his gun at him, blood dripping steadily down between the grate of the ramp to the concrete floor below. That was going to be an absolute _nightmare_ to clean up.

“Sheppard stand down! This was all an exercise!”

John blinked at the General. As if he’d believe _that_. He wasn’t born yesterday. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder, James was there in the control room, hand hovering threateningly over the self-destruct console.

O’Neill looked vaguely concerned, as well he should be given he’d just tried to blow up the whole blasted mountain. He was _still_ holding that damned mug of tea. John kept his wraith stunner pointed steadily in the three-star general’s direction, even as he kept half an eye warily on the downed men that surrounded him.

Considering that he’d been maniacally cackling only a few minutes before suddenly the man looked remarkably sane, well, if you ignored the head crab. Sheppard tried not to let the fact that the world was tilting nauseatingly show in his stance, the stunner was rock steady even as his sense of balance took an impromptu vacation. O’Neill gestured impatiently to the blood gushing down John’s arm,

“What is it with you and Plan _F_ Sheppard?”

Christ, he felt _exhausted_ all of a sudden. The adrenaline must have called in its credit, and his body was discovering that it couldn’t afford to pay the cheques it had cashed. John locked his knees; his legs were busy rifling for change under the sofa,

“Prove that you’re you. How do I know you aren’t still under the influence of that thing?”

John gestured at the smoking remains of the Omega 13 device regretfully, even McKay wouldn’t be able to get anything out of _that_ kind of half-melted wreckage. He hadn’t expected a glancing brush from a stunner beam to do anything like _that, _but Landry had been positioned over the object as if to activate it.

Improbably, given the sealed blast doors, and tear gas still wreathing the air, footsteps sounded behind him. Without taking his aim off O’Neill Sheppard turned his head to assess this new threat, ignoring the headache that was blooming behind his eyes. It was Vala. The blast doors were open, he hadn’t even heard it. Given the shards of pseudo-organic Wraith metal now embedded in the mechanism he _should_ have heard it.

John blinked at her, she authoritatively held out one of those weird landline phones that looked more like a cell,

“Darling, it’s all an exercise. I’ve got Colonel Reynolds on the phone for you. “

Sure enough, Reynolds was on the other end of the line,

“Colonel?”

“Colonel.”

John cautiously drawled,

“How do I know you’re yourself?”

“Oh for! Vala, I told Hank this was a bad idea! Didn’t I? I distinctly remember telling him that. Now we’ve got a Mexican standoff in the gateroom!”

John was still waiting for a response from Reynolds. O’Neill casually pulled the head crab thingy off his head, it rolled up into a rubbery sheet,

“You know Mal Doran, I’m beginning to see why Thor always looked like he thought us humans are just monkeys playing with microwaves I really am.”

John cautiously lowered the stunner. Reynolds was babbling something about broken arms, training exercises, and passing grades. O’Neill passed the head crab over to a shell-shocked looking airman who’d nonthreateningly edged his way towards the general

“I’m sorry I shot everybody!”

Sheppard grimaced down at the still unconscious figure of General Landry sacked out on the gate room floor. He was so far up the creek without a paddle...

O’Neill shot him an amused look; he was _still_ clutching that mug. Sheppard hated the older man in that moment, three-star general or not, the temptation to punch him in that smugly grinning face was high enough that he had to shove his hands behind his back.

Abruptly the gate room was swarming with people. James was smirking right back at O’Neill, Christ did his 2nd Lt have _no_ sense of self-preservation? Scott looked about as terrified as it was possible to be outside of active combat, and most worryingly of all, Johansen looked nervous.

SFs busied themselves sorting out the aftermath, and the chaos that was the gate and conference rooms. As if on cue Landry groaned loudly as he was stretchered away. John tried not to think too hard about what that might mean for his continued existence at the SGC, O’Neill’s tacit approval or no, and the fact that the man now outranked Landry notwithstanding… John was really feeling the bite of regret here.

There was a dripping noise.

John looked down.

Oh wait, no, that was blood loss.

John suddenly felt the urge to sit down.

“Oh for cryin out loud! Sheppard stop dripping blood all over my base!”

A darkly amused voice interrupted,

“_Your_ base?”

Vala gave O’Neill a sultry grin.

“Oh, all right, Hank’s base. But he’s only minding it for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [thought](/users/thought/), for both inspiration and the encouraging review! (Go check out their Rush and Shep interactions if you want to see some truly wonderful characterisation work)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the exercises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this thing is unbetaed, so if you spot any horrible errors please do point them out!
> 
> The greater plot seeds begin to sprout...

** Chapter 3: **

John sat down heavily on the gate room ramp. He watched muzzily as the stunned soldiers were carted away, and someone started sweeping up the broken glass.

“Oh, beautiful, you don’t want to sit there.”

Through the rushing in his ears John thought he caught a hint of flirtation in Vala’s tone, but honestly, he was tired enough that he gave even less of a damn than he usually did about such things.

“Sheppard, why the hell did you think that drop was a good idea? That’s gotta be at least two stories worth!”

John blearily looked up as O’Neill gestured to the shattered remnants of the conference room window. He squinted at the blood smearing the concrete. Yeah… From down here that did seem like a hell of a drop. He fought through the weight of sheer fatigue that was threatening to render him completely incoherent, and slowly drawled,

“Well… You _were_ trying to blow up the mountain sir. I didn’t know if your doomsday doohickey would take the gate with it, and if the gate went up…” John frowned darkly to himself, “Well, you didn’t see the aftermath of the Attero device.”

“Attero?”

“Yeah that total clusterf- uh… disaster when Jackson came to Atlantis sir.”

“Oh. That.”

O’Neill rocked back on his heels and stared up at the shattered window for a long moment,

“Speaking of insane days at the office, seriously Sheppard? You must have seen through this farce?”

“In my defence I am operating on about two hours of sleep.”

“You’ve done better on less.”

“Yes… That’s _true_ sir. But this is after two months of trying not to murder all of the IOA every evening.”

“Ah.”

John blanched as he realised what he’d just admitted. He quickly looked up at O’Neill, ignoring the wave of dizziness that invoked, and caught the flicker of a smile there and gone so fast that he probably imagined it.

John hesitated when an airman tried to take his scavenged gear away, the zat vanished upwards.

“Hey! That’s legitimate salvage.”

The world smeared for a long moment.

After a sickening tilt-a-whirl of disorientation, he found himself staring up at the ceiling.

“Vala, help my Lieutenant Colonel get to Dr Lam’s care. I need to have a word with Hank.”

“Oh General, it would be my _pleasure_.” A hand grasped his upper arm, “Come on beautiful.”

***

Carolyn tutted at the fallout of her father’s asinine decision to force the Atlantis colonel through off-world certification training. The base lockdown had been bad enough, though fortunately there’d been no serious injuries during the tense few hours when the bulkheads had sealed themselves shut. Just a panicked call from Dr Coombs down in his lab when he’d split his thumb open on a microscope slide. They’d been forced to talk him through cleaning and bandaging the wound over the phone. Thankfully when he finally made his way to the infirmary the cut hadn’t been very serious.

O’Neill strolled in as if he owned the place. Lam might have bristled if it had been anyone else, patient care was paramount, military rank did not give _anyone_ the right to override that. However, in a sense, the General had every right to act that way. Carolyn wasn’t entirely sure if it was just his rank, or the fact that Jack O’Neill had been with the Stargate Programme since day one, but she’d noticed that everyone stood just that little bit taller when he was around.

“Hey Doc, you’re about to get an uncooperative patient.”

Carolyn felt an eyebrow raising,

“Pot, kettle, General? You forget, as head physician on this base, I’ve read your medical file. Dr Frasier was very explicit about-”

O’Neill waved her away impatiently,

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Three filing cabinets blah blah.”

“Who is it?”

“Sheppard.”

Carolyn did not huff, but it was a close-run thing. Lam would be having words with her father about this, she’d objected to the whole ridiculous charade from the beginning,

“Of _course_ it is.”

O’Neill shrugged his body language conveying ‘what can you do?’ in that charming schoolboy manner that _all_ the officers at the SGC seemed to cultivate, Cam was just the same.

“What should I be looking out for?” she asked tersely.

“Well from the mission reports he’ll probably disregard anything short of a fracture, and, even then.”

“I meant specifically sir.”

“Ah. Right yes, I knew that. He… took a bit of a fall.”

“A fall?”

“Yeah in the gate room.”

Lam immediately started mentally assembling the tests and equipment she’d need as the physician in her took over. She brusquely asked for the eyewitness information that would help make the assessment go that much more efficiently,

“Down the ramp?”

An exaggerated wince,

“No… No. I don’t think he fell down the _ramp_.”

“General...”

“He… ah… Jumped out of the conference room window.”

Carolyn’s questioning, “What?” was automatic and utterly flat.

O’Neill looked vaguely panicked.

“Yeah… He jumped down to the gate room floor and came up shooting.” A quick glance away, “He ended up playing chicken with the gate.”

“_What_.”

He met her eyes with wide eyed innocence,

“I know!”

Carolyn tried to assess where she’d be able to put him, perhaps one of the private rooms? The casualties of the training exercise were still trickling in. Mostly it was just personnel needing to sleep off the hefty jolt from a Wraith stunner, but there were a few bruises and a sprain or two in there too. What it amounted to was an overflowing infirmary full of patients who’d need observation for the next few hours. There’d never been a recorded incident of serious effects from a wraith stun blast, but there was a first time for everything. Carolyn only hoped there wasn’t an emergency to deal with in the meantime. She’d have nowhere for triage, let alone any beds. A voice echoed loudly down the corridor as yet another round of stretchers was carried to her domain,

“I’m _fine_. Go check on everybody else, there’s a whole buncha scientists and soldiers down for the count on level 19, and level 20 that you should get checked out.”

Vala’s voice vehemently interrupted the little speech,

“Fine? Beautiful, that red stuff is supposed to be _inside_ your body, not all over the floor.”

“It’s only a _little_ blood. Some of those guys have probably lost all circulation by now, they’re not exactly out in the open. Someone should really go let them out.”

“Beautiful, seriously, stop it.”

Carolyn met O’Neill’s gaze in disbelief, he widened his eyes and nodded as if to say, ‘yep, he’s always like that.’ Sure enough, the recumbent form of Colonel Sheppard was hauled into her extremely full infirmary still protesting that others should be treated first. Carolyn met Vala’s eyes questioningly, at that moment Sheppard was proclaiming that he was ‘fine’, though to Lam’s trained eye the fact that he hadn’t made any attempt to get up was telling enough. 

“Let’s get him to a bed and assessed.”

Even as Lam’s team of nurses started stripping off his torn and bloodied uniform to get to the source of all the blood Sheppard was still objecting,

“Hey! You should see to the people I knocked out.”

O’Neill, spotting their struggles rolled his eyes at Lam, and interrupted,

“Colonel, they’re already here. We were following you on the CCTV the whole time. Everyone’s accounted for.”

At that Sheppard finally slumped down an acquiesced to their attempts to get him into a bed, Lam added her own mildly reproving,

“It’s you we need to take care of now.”

Lam tutted to herself as she realised just how deep the cuts liberally spread over the Colonel’s arms and legs were in places. She gently palpated his abdomen to check for internal problems and was relieved when he didn’t so much as flinch.

“Any breathing problems?” He shook his head in the negative, Lam caught the eye of the nurse who was busily cleaning the gash on his bicep,” I want to get him under an MRI to check for internal bleeding.”

“Yes Doctor.”

“Hey, don’t I get a say in this?”

“Oh hush Beautiful, you’ve proven you can’t be trusted to look after yourself.”

“Hey.”

Lam got started on digging out glass from the Colonel’s numerous lacerations, he bore it stoically enough that she realised his pain tolerance might be masking serious problems. It was going to be a long day. At least she’d have a decent excuse not to go to this evening’s Stargate Command Asian Women’s Society meetup. She’d send her regrets to Camile, she’d heard that Miko might be making an appearance too. Still, every cloud had a silver lining, it also meant she’d avoid Lisa Park. Carolyn couldn’t _stand_ Dr Park; the geologist was a complete and utter chatterbox who could witter on about absolutely nothing for hours. Worse, she was an absolute terror at squirreling out unfortunate information about who was dating who, or even if an unwanted crush may or may not be developing.

***

His head ached.

“Hank.”

Yet strangely everything was numb.

“_Hank_.”

Everything aside from that profoundly _irritating_ voice that just would not _go away_.

“Hank!”

Landry came awake with a groan. Yanked from the peaceful darkness he immediately wanted to go back to. He had pins and needles all over. It was so intense it nearly burned.

“…Hank.”

Landry lifted his arm up to rub at his aching head but was stymied by the familiar unwelcome pull of an IV line in the crook of his elbow. He growled at the intrusive voice,

“What do you want Jack?”

“Sheppard.”

“What?” Hank tried to get his brain up to speed, “Wha- Why am I in the infirmary?”

“Well… Sheppard aced your little test.”

“He did, did he?

“Yup.”

“In fact,” the now hated swooshing noise of the yoyo was the next thing Hank noticed, “he made a complete laughingstock of it. The SGC was completely shut off from the outside world for _three hours_ Hank.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah… There was a spec ops squad topside preparing to storm the place when Major Davis finally got back in contact with us.”

Despite the near miss the other man had just reported, Jack looked remarkably au fait about the idea. Hank gave into the impulse and groaned,

“_Jesus_.”

Jack’s voice was an infuriating singsong,

“I told you it was a terrible idea.”

The yoyo swished again. Hank glared up at the Lt General standing at the foot of his bed,

“What do you want Jack?”

“Back Sheppard’s efforts to get the Expedition back to Pegasus Hank, you know this whole guarding the rear thing the IOA is pushing for is just wrong.”

Hank suddenly felt ancient,

“It’s not that simple Jack, Atlantis has been siphoning off funding the SGC desperately needs for _years_ now.”

Jack’s tone was sharp even as he looked completely preoccupied with the child’s toy in his hands,

“Hank that’s crap and you know it. The IOA just used that as an excuse for their penny-pinching. The latest batch of patents have just been declassified; you can forget that excuse.”

“The IOA don’t seem to think so.”

Jack waved a hand airily.

“I’m working on it.”

“Sheppard’s a loose cannon that no one up high trusts.”

At this Jack lost the playful air, Landry wanted to straighten up in response, but he was quite literally laid up,

“Instead of managing him, you responded to that by forcing him through a joke of a training scheme that ended up with him running the gauntlet against the gate! None of that is Sheppard’s fault, we need those traits in a commander, on a gate team. You nurtured them in Mitchell. I’ve seen the way you stiffen up when Sheppard’s in the room Hank. I’m not asking you to _like_ the man, I know _that’ll_ never happen. But I don’t expect you to deliberately put him in another situation where he’s gonna try disintegrating himself.”

Landry blanched as he remembered the scene in the gate room. Jack was right, a training exercise should never have ended up like that. Maybe things had gone a little too far.

“If a member of the SGC had been personally responsible for saving the Earth as many times as Sheppard has over the years, he’d be one of your favourites Hank. Like Mitchell. I know you cut him extra slack”

Hank chewed that one over. Yeah, he had been taking out the funding issues on the Expedition members It was true. Jack was right though,

“Alright. Your opinion has been noted.”

Jack looked deadly serious, though his words undercut the seriousness of their conversation somewhat,

“It better be, or I’ll take back the keys to my cabin.”

Landry quietly chuckled.

“Yeah, look the funding thing might very well go away quicker than you think, McKay and the rest of the Atlantis science squad are working on the power issue for the Asgard Core. We might finally be able to use that thingamabob that makes something out of nothing properly.”

“You mean the matter replicator?”

Jack put on a confused face,

“Is that what they’re calling it? Look I don’t even get the dumbed down explanation of how it works; I just keep telling the President it’s magnets.”

Landry didn’t believe that for a second, but he let the convenient lie slide.

“Anyway, I’ll be heading back to Homeworld tomorrow, now that we know things are going well at Dakara.”

***

John was going to be stuck here for the next few hours. Dammit.

Sheppard really didn’t get what all the fuss was about, he’d only needed a few stitches. The bruises weren’t _that_ bad, though they’d probably be spectacular in the morning. He’d refused Lam’s offer of the strong painkillers, settling for Tylenol. He wanted a clear head about him.

A brigadier general Sheppard didn’t recognise appeared next to his bed,

“Impressive work back there, Colonel.”

“Uh thank you sir?”

A hand was thrust towards him, and John automatically reached out and shook it, only remembering the stitches when they pulled uncomfortably,

“Ah yes, we haven’t met, General Kerrigan, I point the likely cadets in the SGC’s direction whenever I get the chance.”

“Ah… Good to meet you sir.”

Sheppard awkwardly made some extremely small talk with the general but was thoroughly relieved when the man was shooed away by a nurse.

Eventually John convinced them that he was well enough to sit in the chair next to the bed he’d been assigned, rather than lie there for the rest of the damned day. Getting out of the blasted scrubs was beyond his persuasive skills, however. O’Neill appeared, and hovered worryingly at his bedside. From his position stuck in the infirmary on pain of the big needles and the wrath of Lam, John couldn’t exactly slink away to metaphorically lick his wounds either.

O’Neill gestured to his temporary team; John had noticed them sidling in.

“So, Sheppard, what duty assignments would _you_ give these three?”

O’Neill asked him right in front of the three trainees in question. Crap. He was beginning to get why some of the brass had always hated him, if, as Lorne kept insisting their command styles were kinda similar. John clambered to his feet. Oh well, BOHICA. Sheppard did his best to meet all three of their gazes in turn,

“Uh, well sir. I’d back all three with whichever assignment they wanted within the programme.”

O’Neill shot him an unimpressed look, eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘I asked for _your_ opinion Airman Snuffy.”

Scott giggled nervously. John swallowed back the sarcastic retort and trying to sound professional (and ignore the vulnerability of the scrubs) stated,

“Well, Lt Johansen deserves to be backed in whatever she chooses to do, sir. Be that go off to qualify as a doctor or continue with the programme.” O’Neill opened his mouth, John powered forward, “_But_, if she decides to continue with the programme, I’d suggest she do a TDY on one of the BC-304s so she gets a taste of front-line medic duty with the SGC, gets the opportunity for training under a senior doc, and gets her feet wet.”

O’Neill looked mollified. John already felt exhausted, this was more speaking about subordinates he kinda cared about than he’d had to do in months.

“Lt James here is a fine soldier. Her special ops training would be an asset to the programme, and with a little more practical experience of what to expect from an offworld encounter she’ll make a fine specialist on a gate team.”

James looked warily pleased. John grimaced it was the same sort of half-hearted praise he’d received from his superiors all too often, he continued,

“She’s got truly excellent commando skills sir; I think she’s more than earned her place here.”

O’Neill was eyeing the trio speculatively, a gleam in his dark eyes that John didn’t trust,

“Lt Scott here shows great promise. His willingness to do what he asks of his team is a trait we should all try and emulate, both here at the SGC and in Big Air Force.” Sheppard gave Scott a direct look, “Now, I can’t believe _I’m_ saying this, but he could do with a little work on his impulse control, but he’ll make a good officer here with a little more polish.”

O’Neill looked pleased with John’s assessment. He clapped his hands together,

“Sounds like they’ll all be ready to go through the old orifice soon.” Everyone stared at the older officer, he looked around feigning embarrassment but clearly relishing the attention,” Yes, well. Good work Sheppard.”

All the lieutenants slumped in relief. They looked so painfully _young_.

More than ever he felt his age as he stared at the too-young faces looking hopefully back at him. As ever he couldn’t help but wonder to himself if he’d just signed their death warrants by okaying them. Though the logical part of his brain coolly pointed out that they’d be in the armed forces regardless of his input.

John turned to O’Neill and _didn’t_ wince as his knees creaked viciously at him, he’d played it down at the time, and afterwards they hadn’t had the space to address it… But for all that his birth certificate said he was still only 39, he’d lost six months to those hippy Ancient wannabes… Which meant at a _minimum_ he was already the wrong side of forty, god only knew how much time he’d lost to the 800 years trapped in a stasis pod waiting for that solar flare. Elizabeth, the _old_ Elizabeth had been proof enough that the pods weren’t 100% efficient. She’d been ancient, in the truest sense of the word, after 10,000 years in stasis, and John had lost nearly 1000 years to one. These days his _joints_ ached, and he’d lost a full minute on his mile despite the long daily runs he still took with Ronon.

Relief rushed through him when the others finally left, John didn’t even try to parse the message O’Neill had been trying to send him. He was truly exhausted. Sleep overtook him.

***

Colonel Dave Dixon glared at Sheppard. The stupid pansy ass freak was struttin around like he owned the place after causin a hell of a stink earlier. Still, it weren’t his place to judge, Dave was only wildly enthusiastic about his work because he had four kids under the age of ten back home to contend with these days. He dearly loved his family, but a man needed his space.

He spotted another colonel giving Sheppard the stink-eye, he met Telford’s gaze across the span of the officer’s mess. Dave saw the same intent reflected back at him. Dixon got the silent message, yeah, they needed to teach the cocksure little shit a lesson, Sheppard’s kind of theatrics got people killed. Dixon was uncomfortably aware of that; he’d learnt that lesson the hard way. The responsibility for Frasier’s death sat heavy on his shoulders.

The other colonel subtly jerked his head, bussed his tray, and left the mess. He got the message alright. Dave kept eyeing the skinny streak of piss who’d shown them all up _and_ was the guy who kept screwin them all over when the higher ups were handin out the green. If only the other officer weren’t so damned cocksure, always flaunting the regulations. But the scuttlebutt was clear. Sheppard needed to be taught a lesson. Looked like Dave might get the chance to be the one to learn him.

He casually moseyed outside and followed Telford when he caught up with the other colonel in the corridor. They didn’t say a word to one another, just two colonels who happened to be goin in the same direction.

Telford led him to a secluded storeroom that was filled with outdated MALPs needin to be sorted.

There was a flash of light.

Then nothing.

***

John could feel the stares prickling on the back of his neck, the crawling sensation of being watched, ever-present at the SGC, had heightened overnight. Damned training debacle. Internally steeling himself, face impassive behind the mask he’d perfected after years of fights with his father, Shep limped his way through the gauntlet of the SGC’s mess hall. He hadn’t even realised that he’d automatically picked up a butterscotch pudding cup for Rodney until he was staring at the unwanted sugary treat on his otherwise empty tray.

“_Hello._ _Beau_tiful.”

John glanced up surprised by the noise of a tray clattering down onto the table in his quiet bubble of isolation. Vala Mal Doran was leering at him appreciatively, reminding him uncomfortably of the looks Larrin kept giving him every time their paths crossed. Though somehow John had a feeling it was Vala’s way of being friendly, rather than any real interest, in some ways her behaviour reminded him uneasily of his own.

“Hey.”

Shep tried to keep his reply affably noncommittal, but he wasn’t sure he managed it from the way Vala’s grin widened.

“So… What’s the military leader of Atlantis doing slumming it down here with the rest of us proles? Don’t you have a beautiful, _treasure filled_ city to run?”

“The IOA don’t seem to think so.”

John was dismayed by how bitterly honest his response was, he hadn’t meant to say that. Vala gamely ignored his poleaxed expression. She made a gesture that could have meant anything from ‘Please, tell me all about it’ to ‘I honestly couldn’t give less of a damn about what you’re talking about’.

“Well, Beautiful,” this time John could hear the capitalisation, “I’m sure your takeover of the SGC yesterday got them to pay attention.”

John tried not to squirm uncomfortably at the nickname,

“Sure. For all the wrong reasons.”

“Oh honey, hadn’t you heard? There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

With a clatter of utensils Cam Mitchell unceremoniously joined in the conversation, dumping his plastic dinner tray down next to Vala’s unusual selection of fruit and meat.

“Bad publicity? Vala have you been watching too much TV again? What is it this time, Dancing with the Stars? Hey, Shep.”

“Why Cameron I didn’t know you cared.” Vala sniffed haughtily, “And no for your information, it’s Battlestar Galactica. That Dr Baltar is _yummy_!”

Cam was mouthing ‘Battlestar?’ from opposite John’s seat at the table, John could clearly see the confusion on Mitchell’s face, clearly not a sci-fi fan then, unlike most Lanteans. Vala leaned over and cartoonishly fluttered her eyelashes at Cam. Having been told he was a shameless flirt himself; John didn’t read too much into it, _he_ never noticed when he was supposedly insulting people’s daughters. Though he figured that Vala’s brand of flirting was probably a deliberate layer of armour rather than mostly unknowing obliviousness.

“Heard about you taking over the base. Landry had kittens.” Mitchell’s voice went accusatory, “Thanks for locking me in his office by the way man. They only remembered I was in there four hours later.”

John groaned, he pushed his tray aside and cradled his head in the nest his crossed arms formed on the table. A hand started stroking his hair, Sheppard resisted the urge to jerk violently away with an effort.

“There there, Beautiful.” It was Vala, somehow John had figured it wasn’t Cam, “It’s not so bad. Did you know _I _gave birth to the leader of the Ori army that wanted to enslave the whole galaxy, and all the sentient races therein. And look at me! I’m now a _valued_ member of SG-1.”

In a loud stage whisper Vala said,

“Hey how come your hair isn’t this soft?”

“Vala!”

“Now Cameron don’t be jealous, there’s none of that sticky gunk you insist on slathering your hair in at all. I thought you said that Sheppard only got his hair like that with half a tub of industrial strength polymers every morning?”

There was a heartfelt groan from somewhere to John’s left,

“For shame Cameron! _His_ hair is perfectly lovely.”

“_Vala_.”

Her next statement was disturbingly thoughtful,

“And he’s not from the same limited genetic stock that you and Daniel share either.”

John turned his head and squinted suspiciously up at Cam,

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mitchell shot John a helpless look,

“You should be asking Vala that.”

She was still stroking his hair, behind him John heard her exclaim,

“Ooh!”

Cam looked pained.

“Hey Beautiful. Are you going to eat that?”

“Wha-?” Sheppard loosely rolled his head around to face her, the perpetual late nights arguing his piece with the IOA were taking their toll, “Eat what?”

Sheppard heard, and ignored, Cam’s cautious,

“Man Shep, be careful, she’s already got you responding to that stupid nickname.”

Vala picked up the butterscotch pudding and gestured with it.

“Oh, no go ahead.”

“Look Cameron, another Earth delicacy I’d yet to try. And Beautiful here was kind enough to give me his one.”

“Yeah yeah Vala. Least I know how to cook.”

Since he was facing her way Sheppard saw as she childishly poked out her tongue (covered grotesquely in butterscotch pudding) before focusing back on her filched dessert.

“If you say so Cam, don’t look so smug, _I’ve_ tasted your macaroons. Besides John here might know how to cook. Can you cook Colonel?”

“Sure, if you count MREs.”

Vala beamed again,

“See Cameron? He can cook.”

Mitchell was chuckling helplessly at her antics. He turned to Sheppard, still laughing,

“Sure he _can_… I’m not convinced bag nasties count.”

Sheppard shrugged uncomfortably, deciding not to mention the land squid and other Pegasus field rations. Teyla’s tuttleroot soup made the box and bag nasties look downright appetising. Vala pulled another face at Mitchell, then seeming to consider something looked down at John and stage whispered,

“Hey John darling, did I ever tell you that story about how Cameron here keeps losing his pants? There’s a betting pool on how long he’ll make it before it happens again if you want to get in on the action?”

This time it was Mitchell’s turn to let out a heartfelt groan.

*******

Given the abrupt way the training exercises had ended, John decided to spend the morning practicing on the firing range. He still periodically flashed on O’Neill’s face, glaring at Landry like the wrath of god, or… well given the number of gods O’Neill had killed over the years the wrath of _something_ that even gods feared_. _

Since he hadn’t really had the chance to get his eye in with anything but an Intar lately, Sheppard decided to check on his skills not only with his own weapons, but the more unfamiliar stuff that he suddenly had access to, now that he was stationed at the SGC for the foreseeable future.

A few marines wandered into the range, joking amongst themselves, clearly curious about John’s performance. John wasn’t sure if that was due to his infamy as the Atlantis expedition base commander, or, more likely, what had happened yesterday…

John took the time to thoroughly service his side-arm, not just the standard cleaning/inspection that he habitually carried out daily, but a complete breakdown/build up. Ever since the Expedition had regained contact with earth at the end of the First Year, John had upgraded from the standard Nato-grade M9 Beretta 92FS, with its 15 round capacity 9mm magazine to a fairly expensive (but hell, he hadn’t spent his pay check on anything for a year, actually he hadn’t been spending his pay on anything significant since after the divorce so he had plenty of cash) 1911.

His .45ACP Para-Ordnance P-14-45 Limited had accurized sights, ambidextrous trigger, bobbed and skeletonised speed-safety, and to top it off, unlike a standard single-stack 1911, was fitted for doublestack magazines with a 14 round capacity, yet still fired .45s. Larger .45 rounds were much more likely to make a wraith stop and think twice than the 9mm rounds of the Beretta. 

Once he finished with his primary weapon, Sheppard moved onto his back-ups, another customised .45 1911, and a standard military issue Beretta, one that, when not topside on Earth, John carried in an ankle holster – having long since learnt his lessons about wraith and keeping some sort of concealed weapon for when you’d been caught.

John made sure that he could remember how to handle a P-90, then moved on to several other ballistic options available to practice with. Remembering his Marines’ disdain for the P-90, and the sheer number of times they’d been sent the basic model, rather than the more useful scoped gun John snarked to himself,

“Here at Aperture ScienceTM we fire the whole bullet, that’s 65 percent more bullet, per bullet!”

John moved onto the wraith stunners, checking that he could still make body shots at the very least with the unwieldy weapons – though after yesterday he barely needed the practice. The Wraith, naturally, scaled everything for themselves, and when the average drone was 2 metres tall… Well – their stunners, both the handheld pistol-like models and the huge spear-like rifles were similarly oversized. John was pleasantly surprised to see that he’d improved some on the stunners, if he was judging it right the energy dissipation pattern showed he was making both the centre mass shots and headshots most of the time. (It was difficult to judge with a weapon that left no visible mark on your target)

Next John moved onto the zat, he’d wanted to thoroughly test one of these things since day 1. But Atlantis had never been issued any, and there’d never been time when he was on base here before. Or rather, John had been on best behaviour given the stick up Landry’s ass, and he hadn’t wanted to do anything that could be misinterpreted. Now though? After he’d accidentally on purpose singlehandedly shut down the entirety of stargate command?

Screw it.

He was going to enjoy this tech whilst he still could, before they kicked him out of the programme.

The zat? His initial first impression remained sadly accurate. The zat was one of the most awkward weapons he’d ever wielded, awkward to hold, slow to fire, inaccurate firing that didn’t systematically pull too far to the left or the right just drifted around all over the place, and that inaccuracy increased the longer you kept up a burst of fire. Huh. Still, it was damned convenient that 3 hits, anywhere on the target, disintegrated the target. That was fun. Or horrifying. John couldn’t decide. Maybe both?

The staff weapon was even worse. Extremely slow to fire, frustratingly inaccurate. But the shots it fired overpowered even Ronon’s ridiculous gun when it was set to kill – if it weren’t for the special energy dissipating backboard John was sure he’d have been taking huge chunks out of the batting at the back of the range. Not to mention, forget pistol-whipping, you could club someone to death with one of these things from a distance. With no need to worry that you were wrecking your weapon.

Normally time on the range quieted any jitters that John was feeling but given the meeting with Landry scheduled later that afternoon, and the stares that prickled uncomfortably on his neck everywhere he went, Sheppard was still feeling restless when he’d exhausted the mental list of firearms he’d wanted to test himself on. In the end he somehow ended up in the gym, bantos rods out, clumsily working his way through one of the newer katas that Teyla had deemed he was ready for. It was quite a step up from the previous level, or whatever the hell you called it in Bantos fighting, but, well, John had been practicing the method of defence/offense for 5 years now. If he wasn’t at least a _little_-competent by now, he never would be. Screw it, Lam’s imprecations or not, John knew his own body, and it had only been a _few_ stitches.

Ronon always laughed, that Teyla was still able to kick John’s ass so regularly. But John had never minded, she was a formidable warrior who’d been practicing hand to hand, and armed styles her entire life. John was just happy she was willing to teach him, even when, frequently he found he didn’t have the time to practice as often as she (or he) would like, given the whole running a base out in the arse-end of another galaxy thing. The paperwork alone was nearly a full-time job, let alone the daily peril and the running for your life.

As John wound down from the meditative state these solo practices tended to bring out, he realised that he’d gathered quite an audience. Crap. He’d automatically assessed them as a threat, and then noting their positions, moved on when they weren’t hostile. But John hadn’t consciously registered their presence at all, that was embarrassing.

“Colonel Sheppard.”

“Uh – Hi Teal’c, good to see you again.”

“Indeed.”

John rubbed the sweat off his neck with his towel and tried not to look too curious,

“What are you doing back on base? I heard negotiations with the numerous Free Jaffa nations were going well, and you guys were all trying to work out who would get first dibs at salvaging Dakara?”

See? John could _so_ keep up with the politics of the milky way.

“Indeed, Colonel Sheppard, in fact negotiations went so smoothly that they ended nearly a week early.”

“Huh.”

“Yes. Master Bra’tac commented that it was a once in a century event. I have merely returned to the SGC to, as you Tau’ri say, check in on my team, before we move on to Dakara tomorrow.”

Teal’c cracked a smile. It was slightly terrifying, though no worse than Ronon when he was feeling playful.

“Tomorrow on Dakara is in fact, early evening here on earth. I shall be obliged to leave before any other members of SG-1 return to the base.”

John raised an eyebrow at that, unsure if Teal’c was cracking a joke, or if he genuinely believed that John didn’t understand the difference between planetary orbits and rotations. It was so hard to tell when Teal’c was pulling your leg, John had a suspicion that 90% of his ‘oh woe is me I am an ignorant alien’ act was precisely that, an act. The man could quote the entirety of Star Wars more accurately than Rodney for god’s sake! John had been impressed, the physics team on Atlantis had practically adopted Teal’c as their dual god and bodyguard at that stage. John belatedly realised he hadn’t replied,

“Uh. Good?”

“Colonel Sheppard, I should very much like to spar with you.”

“Uh. What?”

John internally groaned at his automatic response. Way to go John, great answer. 10/10 good job.

“Excellent.”

“Uh…”

John noticed that the crowd had not dissipated, in fact it had grown. Crap. This was his comeuppance for not stopping the betting pool that time Ronon and Teal’c had beat the crap out of each other. Though, considering how much he’d managed to skim off the top that day from Chuck, he still kinda thought it had been worth it. Even with the fact that Carter had chosen a pretty inventive punishment; one that John didn’t like to think about. He still couldn’t look a cup of blue jello in the face.

Trying not to visibly gulp at the gleam in Teal’c’s eye, John took a moment to be grateful that he was feeling warm and limber right now. He had a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t be feeling so spry in an hour’s time.

John raised his bantos rods to the ready position. One stick prepared to guard his side, the other raised in front of him.

Teal’c spun his practice staff a few times, and assumed a stance that John guessed was the Jaffa equivalent of ‘come at me bro’.

Teal’c nodded.

And was suddenly upon him.

John reflexively moved his sticks to block a blow that felt like it could have crushed his skull. His arms were still reverberating with the impact, even as he backpedalled, using his agility John deliberately ducked down and well within the range of the longer stave. This close the reach of the staff was no longer an advantage, John quickly rose and swept his own sticks up and around to land a series of hits to Teal’c’s upper arm and wrists, trying to force him to drop his weapon.

Teal’c didn’t even flinch.

With a speed belied by his size, Teal’c swept his staff backwards, John ducked again and brought his stick to bear on Teal’c’s ankle as he rolled out of harm’s way.

Screw looking cool. He did not want to get hit.

John felt an impact on the back of his calf, even as his momentum continued to carry him forward and back out of Teal’c’s reach.

Ouch. Crap. That hurt like a motherf-

John spun around readying himself for the next blow, making sure to keep his guard up. Sure enough, the staff whipped out lightning quick, the clack! of wood hitting wood echoing hollowly around the training room.

Quick as a whip, John brought his other stick up to bear, and tried to wrest the staff out of Teal’c’s grip, which faltered momentarily. Teal’c’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He grinned fiercely. Teal’c obviously surprised that John would attempt such an idiotic tactic.

The speed of the fight redoubled after that.

Already sweating John cursed internally, _that _had been the warmup?!

The next few minutes passed in a blur of strike, block, strike, duck, roll.

Both fighters instinctively blocking hits without hesitation or conscious thought.

What felt like hours later, John misjudged his reach, and overextended himself.

The next thing he knew Tea’c’s staff had tangled with his bantos rod, his arm was caught in a lock, and he was lying on his back on that mat.

John felt that the fight ended humiliatingly quickly, but from the jeers of the crowd that finally penetrated through the rush of do or die that Sheppard always struggled to achieve during a training match, they didn’t seem to think so.

“Well fought Colonel Sheppard.”

A hand reached down to help him up,

“I should very much like to spar with you again.”

“Uh, me too big guy.”

Teal’c grinned. He _grinned_. It was chilling.

The soldiers that had surrounded them were dispersing whilst John was busy being embarrassed by Teal’c’s praise. Terrifyingly Teal’c frowned,

“Colonel Sheppard, you are bleeding.”

John looked down at his arm and realised he must have torn some stitches, blood was seeping out from beneath his t-shirt sleeve,

“Uh…”

In a brusque, business-like manner Teal’c rapidly stripped John of his shirt. From somewhere in the gym there was a gasp. What, what?

“Colonel Sheppard, I did not do this today.”

For all that the big guy’s words were a statement, is was phrased as a question, Teal’c’s brows were raised but somehow, he looked furious.

John looked down, his torso was black and blue. Nasty dark purple blotches were spread over most of his left side. Oh, huh yeah that had come up spectacularly. He hadn’t even felt it earlier.

The adrenaline and frustration drained away.

The pain took its place.

John grimaced.

“Ow.”

“Indeed. I shall escort you to Dr Lam’s care.”

“Oh man, Doc’s gonna be furious with me.”

Teal’c’s expression was implacable, John’s shoulders slumped.

“Alright, let’s go face the reaper.”

Sure enough, Lam was furious with him,

“I released you to light duty Colonel. _Light_.”

Her prodding didn’t feel very gentle.

“Ow.”

She shot an exasperated look his way,

“In what possible universe does sparring with Teal’c constitute light? No don’t answer that.”

She brusquely checked him over, pointedly used medical glue instead of stitches, and forced a bottle of muscle relaxers on him. When John opened his mouth to protest, she’d shot him a look that was every bit as scary as Teal’c’s.

After another lecture, and some stern definitions of what exactly light duty entailed he finally escaped Lam’s clutches. Teal’c surprised John yet again, he’d been on the verge of slinking off to lick his metaphorical, and not so metaphorical, bruises, when the Jaffa turned a piercing look his way,

“Colonel Sheppard, I understand that you too bear the burden of having seen a possible future.”

John almost jumped, he’d almost forgotten the big guy was there,

“Uh. Yes?”

“I too have witnessed my teammates make it to old age and seen possible future relationships for them.”

“Huh.”

He chewed on his lip, that was news to John alright.

“Tell me, have you ever considered acting upon what you witnessed?”

John rubbed at the back of his neck,

“Well… Some of its sorta come true already.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. See…”

***

Vala watched with interest as an irritable little man made his way down the corridor. He was stalking along, moving at a brisk pace that forced his fellow pedestrians to move aside, or be run over. And yet he was so slight, she’d have called him delicate, if not for the pent-up energy pouring off him.

A tall, equally angry looking Colonel called out, “Dr Rush.”

The newly named Rush nodded curtly and replied, “Colonel Telford.” Rush kept stalking down the corridor. Telford ran to catch up, and halted him by grabbing at his upper arm,

“Listen, I’ve heard you cracked the fourth chevron.”

Rush pointedly eyed the offending hand, and when Telford made no move to remove it, shook himself free. He took a step back, crossed his arms and sarcastically bit out,

“Why yes, hello to you too David. How was your weekend?”

Telford grinned nastily, “As if you give a damn Rush. Did you even take a weekend?”

“Well, no.”

“Exactly my point. Any progress on the other cyphers?”

“Not as of yet, one of them is almost certainly musical.”

“Musical?”

“Yes.” Rush’s bitten off hiss there must have finally gotten his impatience across as Telford lifted his hands as if in surrender and took a step back.

“Hey, I’m only asking because we might have found a planet with a suitable naquadria core to meet the power requirements. The IOA are talking about putting a rush on building a base there.”

“Really?” Rush’s tone seemed to convey his complete and utter disinterest in the news. Telford scowled and spat,

“I just thought you’d like to know. I’ve got to go, meeting.” And did his own stalking down the corridor.

Vala took the opportunity to catch up to Rush “Hello Lovely. Fancy meeting you here.”

Rush blinked at her in bewildered surprise. _Adorable_.

“Yes yes, nice to meet you.”

He continued on his way, Vala kept pace. The irascible Tau’ri scientist didn’t seem to notice. Vala decided to remind him that she was there,

“What’s got you in such a hurry, gorgeous?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin,

“Oh nothing.”

The evasive reply only piqued her curiosity. Vala decided at once to take more of an interest in the grumpy little Tau’ri scientist. She grinned her most toothy grin at him, which widened impossibly further when it was met with a look of utter distrust.

***

“Colonel Reynolds, report.”

Albert responded to the formality in Landry’s tone, he came as close to attention as he could with his arm in a cast,

“Yessir.”

“Albert, at ease, this isn’t a formal debrief. I want your opinion on Trainee Team Three’s performance this month.”

“Ah, you mean Colonel Sheppard sir?”

Landry looked tired,

“Yes, about Sheppard.”

“Well, I didn’t witness his actions when he thought it was a real firefight, but he seems a decent leader. Made sure to use his team’s strengths but didn’t neglect bolstering up their weaknesses either.”

“I see.”

Reynolds took a chance, Landry had always been a fair CO,

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Of course.”

“I.. I really don’t see why you sent him on that course sir. He did well by his team, but no way did he need to be there. Especially not with the IOA meetings running every night.”

“Yeah.”

Landry rubbed a hand over his face,

“Alright Reynolds give me the specifics on the team’s performance, would you?”

***

John got to the conference room just as the previous meeting was breaking up. As well as General Landry, Dr Lam was there, Dr Jackson too, Colonel Telford, Carson, Dr Keller, Major Davis, and General O’Neill. No one would quite meet his eye, from the expressions on people’s faces whatever the discussion had been hadn’t gone well.

Dr Jackson’s colour was still up, Telford looked furious, though from the few times John had seen the guy around, he _always_ looked furious, so John wasn’t convinced that meant anything. O’Neill looked grim and tired. Lam was glaring daggers, and Carson wouldn’t look up from the papers he was busying himself with at the table. He and Keller looked especially squirrely.

Last John had heard Keller was visiting her family, trying to cajole Rodney to come with her, and Carson had been training up new SGC medical recruits down at Area 51. What the hell? They knew he was stuck in the mountain by himself, and. And what? He’d thought they were his _friends_?

Out of the corner of his eye John eyed up the documents that Carson was still shuffling anxiously, the more he tried to quickly tidy everything away, the more flustered the man got. The paperwork looked kinda like a medical report? John didn’t want to be caught trying to ogle something he really wasn’t supposed to know about, and yet…

What the hell was going on?

What was so important, and needed so many personnel, senior medical staff from Atlantis too? Yet was secretive enough that they’d made damned sure that Woolsey was out of the mountain, and John distracted (if it hadn’t been for… yesterday, John would be at the alpha site by now).

Landry shooed everyone out of the conference room overlooking the gate, shot a pointed look at the lack of glass in the window, and ushered John into his office, shutting the door with an ominous click,

“Colonel Sheppard!”

Landry’s expression was weird,

“Reporting as ordered sir.”

“At ease man, relax Colonel you passed the training exercise with flying colours.”

Huh.

“Colonel Reynolds was very impressed.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Though he’ll be relieved to get back to full duty next week. That broken arm of his meant he was supposed to be on light duty, but he seems to believe running the training programme is more stressful than his usual job!”

Landry smiled at that, his expression implying that he’d found something amusing, that nevertheless wasn’t funny.

“Anyway, consider yourself recertified for gate travel Colonel.”

Landry smiled at him, John didn’t believe it for a moment. The brass was never nice. It had been one of the bigger mistakes that had clued him in when the mist people had tried to trick them into thinking they were back on Earth. Hammond had been solicitous, in John’s experience that simply never happened. Nothing had changed to alter his opinion. The brass hated his guts, only now Atlantis was suffering for it, not just his career. John was damned if he’d let the people who served under him suffer for his unpopularity, it was why he always made sure to be on time with his paperwork and was so deliberate about giving praise and credit where credit was due.

“Jack told me you’ve been burning the midnight oil.” Landry shot John a considering look that was half fatherly concern, half accusation, “You should have told me you were double booked Colonel.”

“Uh yessir?”

“Consider yourself on medical leave for the next few days. Mr Woolsey says the IOA need to go off and deliberate anyway.”

John rocked back on his heels, feeling slightly stunned. Landry scowled,

“Don’t thank me all at once Colonel.”

Landry prodded, oh oops. John tried for a grateful smile, he was sure he’d missed by a mile when Landry frowned in response,

“Thank you sir.”

“Dismissed.”

John staggered from the room in stunned disbelief.

***

It was the first evening without IOA meetings block scheduled that Sheppard had had for _weeks_. He’d been using the promised night of freedom as a motivator for himself for ages, even with the knowledge that he’d be stuck at the Alpha site when it happened. So of course, what happens as soon as the longed-for evening turns up?

Sheppard literally didn’t know what to do with himself. He caught himself ruminating over the thrice damned meetings rather than managing anything even loosely resembling relaxation. He ended up staring at the wall in his quarters, trying, and failing, to distract himself.

The months had taken their toll. Expedition members kept getting reassigned left right and centre. Carter and O’Neill had come up with a scheme to follow the IOA’s mandate, whilst undermining their attempts to force Atlantis to remain earthbound. Any member of the expedition that got reassigned was immediately offered a place on the _George Hammond_, with it made explicit that the duty assignment was offered as a means to wait out the IOA’s machinations regarding the Ancient city. So far 90% of the people they’d have otherwise lost had said yes.

Sheppard, and the expedition were in a better position than they’d been last time they’d effectively been kicked off the city. Those months on Earth after the Alterans had thrown them out had lost him a lot of good people when all was said and done. However, John feared that the attrition rate would only increase as the months wore on. Fortunately, with O’Neill’s backing both the _Hammond_ and _Daedalus_ were going to make relay runs out to Pegasus, keep up their pact with their allies and the Coalition, keep sending relief supplies to people who desperately needed them and keep bringing the war to the wraith whilst they were on the backfoot.

The _Hammond_ was still shiny and brand new, but her first real test was coming up, she was due to make the intergalactic voyage to Pegasus at the end of the month. With all the expedition members on the crew manifest, John hoped it would be clear Atlantis never truly left. It chafed; he was stuck here politicking whilst the war with the Wraith raged in Pegasus.

John sighed and rubbed at his eyes, as he tried to work up the energy to go and do something. No one else from the Expedition was in town, John paranoidly checked after that meeting. Carson and Keller had vanished as soon as they’d arrived. Woolsey had apologetically given his regards and immediately boarded a flight to Washington DC after last night’s fruitless meeting, Rodney was still giving scientists nervous breakdowns at Area 51, Teyla and Ronon were both stuck on Atlantis, though Ronon wanted to join the _Hammond_ as soon as possible. Lorne was off doing IOA duty with the SGC’s Pentagon rep – Major Davis? The list continued.

It was as if the SGC didn’t trust the expedition members not to stage a coup or something if they left enough of them in the same room together.

John blinked, realised he was _still_ sat staring at the grey concrete wall in his temporary quarters at the SGC - he’d been chewing on things he might not be able to change for over an hour. Rubbing his face harshly he sighed, John was up on level 15, exiled to the mass housing for personnel that weren’t deemed that important. John knew he was lucky to have a room to himself, most officers shared two to a bunk, let alone the barracks situation the enlisted had to deal with. The deliberate snub was yet another clue as to the likelihood of Atlantis ever getting to go back.

There was a knock on the door. Huh. John sprung up from his sprawled position on the bed, eased the kinks out of his back when all his bruises protested loudly, remembered that he hadn’t locked the door, and called out,

“Come in!”

“Hello Beautiful.”

It was Vala. She slinked over and sat herself in his lap. John grinned sleepily up at her; they’d gotten on the few times they’d met in the past. Besides he’d had fun hanging out with her and Mitchell earlier, despite all the stares.

“John, I’m bored. Bored bored _bored_.”

John put on what he hoped was a sympathetic face,

“Darling Daniel is on base; he won’t even come and say hello!” John was surprised by that news; last he’d heard Daniel was heading up a renewed linguistic and anthropological effort to understand what the hell the Ancients had been thinking when they’d organised the insanity that was Atlantis’s database. He’d assumed that Jackson had immediately gone back to that, like Carson and Keller apparently had.

Vala pouted, though John thought he saw genuine upset lurking beneath the mask of theatrical childishness.

“Come and join us? We can see if we can make him have some fun together?”

“We?”

“Cameron and I thought we should say hello, but Daniel buried himself in his books as soon as he got back. He’s been at it for _hours_!”

John flashed on Daniel’s face as he’d filed out of that meeting, and chose not to say anything,

“Yeah sure. Why not? Sounds good.”

“Excellent!” Vala turned around and shouted through the door, “Cam! He said yes! Let’s go find Daniel.”

***

Considering her mission a success, Vala sashayed down the corridor to Daniel’s office, her two boys following behind her like… ducklings? Vala thought that was what Samantha had called those small fluffy baby birds.

Vala noted that Daniel’s large selection of books and research materials were still obstructing most of the hall. She turned to Cam and rolled her eyes. When he was in full research mode Daniel could be single-minded to the point of severely damaging his own health. According to Mitchell that was typical of most scientists at the SGC, but Sam had always seemed able to strike that balance.

Peering cautiously around the doorway Vala tried to analyse the tactical situation, Daniel wasn’t making any progress, she could tell by the frustrated twist to his mouth, and the frown that creased his forehead. It was probably safe to interrupt.

Vala reached across and deliberately shut the massive academic tome that said ‘Isis and Osiris: Origins of an Origin Myth’ on its cover.

“Daniel, darling. Why don’t you take a break?”

“Not now Vala.”

“Daniel I’m going stir crazy,” Vala leaned over him and resting her head on Daniel’s shoulder issued the by now traditional threat, “And I’m taking you with me!”

Daniel merely rolled his eyes at her, giving her an unimpressed look. Vala turned pleading eyes on Cameron, he could usually cajole Daniel into listening,

“Daniel, come on man, you’ve been at this all day. What’s a short break gonna hurt anything? Side’s what’s up with the sudden Egyptology kick anyways? I thought you were trying to sort out the Alteran language drift in Pegasus compared to us Milky Way folks?”

“I was! But I found reference to a parasitical War Queen and…”

Daniel spun around in his office chair, probably preparing to say something cutting, and spotted John,

“Oh, hello Colonel Sheppard.”

Sheppard looked just as standoffish as Daniel did, and Sheppard didn’t have the excuse of arguing with two close friends without realising he had company. Huh. Vala wondered if she’d be able to ferret the truth out about that. She couldn’t quite decide if it was Daniel specifically that was causing it, or just Sheppard being awkward around people generally. The dark-haired man had been looking generally edgy every time she’d seen him.

John shifted uncomfortably and said, “John’s fine Dr Jackson.”

Vala noted that Sheppard had tensed right up again in Daniel’s presence, just when she’d gotten him to unwind from that stiff uncomfortable posture too. No, it was more than just standoffishness, she doubted she’d be able to get him to relax again any time soon. By Hathor’s saggy tits, negotiating Tau’ri social niceties could be so exhausting! Huffing to herself, Vala snapped,

“Oh, come on Daniel. You know you aren’t going to get anywhere tonight.”

“Vaaalaaa…”

Vala fluttered her eyelashes at him,

“You rang darling?” Daniel scowled again, his mouth pouting adorably.

It was too easy to wind Daniel up sometimes, Cam snorted behind her and said,

“Come on Jackson, it’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other. How about a catch up with old friends? You missed Teal’c earlier you know.”

Daniel sounded wonderfully put out, “I missed Teal’c? …Oh, _alright_. But I’m going to keep working. This is important.”

They enjoyed about half an hours’ worth of bickering before there was a commotion in the hallway outside, a heavily accented voice exclaiming,

“Get out of her way!”

Vala went outside to investigate, closely followed she noted by Colonel Sheppard, and immediately spotted what all the fuss was about. Dr Amanda Perry and the small sullen man who’d caught Vala’s interest, Doctor Rush, were unable to pass the blockage in the hallway. Reassuringly Dr Perry’s caregiver was with the pair, even _Vala_ was aware of the importance of Dr Perry’s needs.

To his credit Sheppard didn’t even blink when he saw Dr Perry, he just said, “Hi.” In that quiet drawl of his, and “Ah, I see what the problem is.” and got to work shifting boxes.

When she’d first met Dr Perry Vala had immediately offered her services with a Goa’uld healing device. The Earth scientists had all scoffed at the offer, but Vala had seen sarcophagi bring people back from _death_. These Tau’ri kept forgetting everything that Vala could do for them, usually she liked being underestimated, _preferred_ it even, but that brush off had been unforgivable.

It had only been Amanda’s reassurance that the best doctors Earth had to offer had been unable to do anything that had gotten Vala to back off, but Vala had been _convinced_ that five minutes with a hand device, and she’d have Doctor Perry up and out of that wheelchair and able to walk again. Vala thoroughly respected Doctor Perry’s stance on no more surgeries, which the medical doctors had all told her would be necessary to remove all that old calcified scar tissue and the vertebrae fusing pins to enable a hand device to have a hope in hell. All the preparative surgery would come at near certain risk of death, which Dr Perry wasn’t prepared to take when she had so much work to complete. Vala had had to be satisfied with, ‘maybe, some day.’

“Dr Perry! I’m so sorry!”

That was Daniel, whilst Vala had been reflecting, he’d finally noticed the commotion. Dr Perry schooled her face from the exasperated amusement she’d been trying not to show Doctor Rush, into an expression of quizzical fondness. Dr Rush on the other hand was still glowering fiercely,

“I really am very sorry, I meant to put all this stuff away as soon as I got back, then I found out about that damned meeting General Landry was holding cos Jack let it slip. The one I w_asn’t invited to, _and I had to run, everything’s been such a mess.”

As Daniel prattled on, he was already moving the heavy crates of books out of the Doctors’ path,

“Really Amanda, I can’t apologise enough, if you want me to do or get you anything to say sorry, just name it.”

If anything, Rush’s scowl got even darker at that, Vala _knew _it was just Daniel being Daniel, he’d be like this for anyone. But Rush seemed to think it was related to Dr Perry’s disability, then again Vala had seen the way people tended to stare, and stutter in her presence. It seemed to go one of two ways, either they were so uncomfortable around her that they practically ran away, or they were far too attentive, as if they were trying to prove, that no, really, they saw past the electric wheelchair, and the ventilator, and could see the person. Vala supposed she understood Rush’s reaction there. She’d learnt in the last few years how much it hurt to see a friend, someone you cared about, being subjected to any sort of iniquity.

With a flourish Cam removed the last of the boxes, and bowed theatrically,

“Ladies,” Cam shot an exaggerated look Rush’s way, “Gentleman. We apologise for the interruption to your daily routine.” He gave an over the top bow that had Dr Perry giggling, and even Rush’s lips twitching. Dr Perry’s carer, Mary, grinned at him, and the trio moved on.

Interruption over they settled back into Daniel’s office,

“R-right. Ookay so that happened.” Daniel looked sheepish, “Thanks for the help guys. Maybe I should take a break, you’re right Vala, I wasn’t getting anywhere anyway.”

The book was closed decisively.

Vala beamed in response.

***

John leaned back, content to let the conversation wash over him. Vala was busying herself in the corner - mysterious clinking noises, and alarming gurgling had been issuing from behind the fish tank for a while. John was morbidly curious about whatever was going on whilst she was blocking his view, so really wasn’t paying that much attention to the main conversation.

“What do you think John?”

Crap, what? John looked up, Mitchell was staring at him quizzically,

“I… I think that’s an interesting question?”

Mitchell cracked up,

“Man, Shep were you paying _any_ attention? I can see why the brass love you.”

“Hey!” John’s objection was half-hearted, it was true, and Mitchell was only teasing.

Daniel squinted in John’s direction, “I thought you were supposed to have a brain in there.” He looked away dismissively, “Maybe McKay was right about that hair growing roots.”

At the latest snide comment about John’s intelligence from Jackson, Vala swept across the room and shoved a tall glass full of something muddily green under John’s nose,

“Oh leave him alone Daniel. Whilst you’ve been hunting out treasure in his city, poor John has been stuck here pretending to listen to what those IOA morons think.” Daniel looked mildly chagrined, “Here darling, it’s called an Ori De-hallower.”

Daniel made a face, and mimed retching. John scowled at him in response. _John _(of all people!) kept catching the flashes of genuine hurt that Vala was leaking out from behind her armour, and yet Jackson, anthropologist extraordinaire, who’d managed to convince a whole tribe of lizard-men that had wanted to _eat him_ for dinner to swear unending fealty to him, remained wilfully oblivious. Not to mention John still hadn’t quite forgiven Jackson for that mess with the evil Asgard in Pegasus. He’d nearly blown up Atlantis. Hell, several planets with sizeable human populations _had_ blown up.

“Thanks Vala.”

Pointedly John took a large gulp. Eh. It wasn’t great. A bit too salty. A truly bizarre combination of flavours from the gin and the coffee liqueur and the whatever the hell the vivid green stuff was. But he’d had much worse, and that was just on earth. He wasn’t counting the innumerable ritual potions, and the nearly-cow stew, or mystery meat goulash with unknowable spices that Atlantis’s mess regularly served up. Not to mention the unspeakable things he’d eaten on numerous planets over the years. Besides, it was alcoholic, extremely so from the way it was trying to melt his sinuses.

John quickly took another huge swallow and grinned sunnily up at Vala, from his corner Mitchell shot John a grateful look. From the relief practically steaming off him John gathered that Jackson and Vala had been gearing up for round two of poke the other person where it hurts.

The conversation meandered away again,

“Daniel I will never understand you.” Vala declared, “All that treasure, and all you ever want to do is _catalogue_ it.”

“Yes. Well. Excuse me if I don’t give the opinion of a known thief much weight.” The sarcasm dripped from Jackson’s voice.

“I thought we agreed that I’d proved myself and was a valued member of SG-1 who brought a unique skillset to the team.” Vala was aiming for lightly teasing, but there was an undeniable quaver to her tone. Jackson didn’t seem to notice; he opened his mouth as if preparing to wind up for round three.

Mitchell was looking at Daniel askance now, drawing himself up he said, much too loudly,

“I know let’s go to O’Malleys!”

To John’s shock, Daniel groaned jealously, rather than the expected go away dismissal,

“Cam, you know I’m banned for life!”

Cam’s reply was unrepentant

“Yep.”

“Banned for life.”

“Yep.” Cam turned to John, and faux-conspiratorially leaned over, “Old Jackson over there, along with Sam and Jack started an epic, we need to redecorate the entire establishment, and I mean _remodelling_, bar fight there. Their faces are permanently up behind the bar.”

Mitchell made exaggerated lip-smacking noises,

“Best steaks in the whole of Colorado Springs. Nearly as good as my mama makes.”

Jackson’s response was plaintiff, “Bring me back a doggy bag?”

Vala giggled in tipsy delight, “Yeah, join us Beautiful, it’s tradition.” Behind Vala Daniel’s expression went poker-faced, “Cam, Muscles, and I go there to get away from the other members of SG-1 when they’re being difficult.” She shot Jackson a glare.

***

O’Malleys wasn’t a dive bar as the story had implied. It had to be one of the swankiest grills cum restaurants in the whole city. Damn.

The steaks were huge, and delicious. ‘Grass fed’ according to the snooty waiter. John almost embarrassed himself, until he took the approach that had tided him over disturbingly well on earth of late, treat it like an off-world mission, with strange customs that must be followed otherwise the natives will come after you with pointy spears, flaming torches, and the occasional catapulted cow.

The meal was relaxed, Cam remarked drolly,

“What don’t they feed you out there Shep?”

“Sure. Lots of tava beans and tuttle root. Then there’s near-deer, practically chicken, not-quite-pig, and ersatz goat which are also in plentiful supply these days.”

Cam had chuckled, and nearly knocked over his glass of red wine. Sheppard had stuck with beer, beer and beef were a winning combination no matter how swanky the restaurant, or the faces the waitstaff pulled.

“How’d this become a tradition anyway?”

“Ah, when Danny-boy was a guest of the Ori for six months that one time,” Cam shot John a sympathetic look, “Sorry man I know SG-1 wasn’t really around for you guys when you were stuck down here, but… Well we were going through our own crap. We didn’t know if he was alive, or dead, or being tortured or brainwashed or…”

John grimaced, guilt burning through him like a brand. He hadn’t heard about any of this at the time, so wrapped up in his own crap. Cam noticed his expression and quickly moved on,

“Anyway, so Teal’c and Sam got around to telling us newcomers all about the legendary exploits of SG-1 from their own mouths. And one thing led to another, and we found out about the lifetime bans to this place… And it sorta became a tradition.”

At the end of the meal Cam bowed out, and yes, he bought a to-go bag for Jackson. Traitor. Leaving Shep and Vala propping up the bar. He exaggeratedly waggled his finger at them as he left,

“Now you kids behave yourselves.”

John automatically snarked back, “Yes mother.” Before he could catch himself, but Mitchell merely laughed at him.

Vala turned to him on her stool and said, “Well, since you enjoyed my cocktail so much Beautiful, how about we order for each other?”

“Sure.”

Getting the attention of the bartender, Shep nodded to Vala and said, “Dirty gin martini, as dry as you can get it, very dirty.”

Vala, eyes twinkling like mad grinned enormously, “And a screaming orgasm for Beautiful here.”

John nearly spat out what was left of his beer. The bartender, laughing at the pair of them, went off to deal with their order.

“Can we stop with the beautifuls please?” John begged, wincing at the whine in his voice.

Vala sighed at him dramatically,

“Oh, you Tau’ri men with your delicate sensibilities.”

“What?” John asked genuinely puzzled, before he worked it out, he flushed, “No! No, it’s nothing like that, just I think Jackson hates me enough already.”

Vala burst out into a husky laugh. It went straight to his groin. She flashed him a wink,

“Yes. We wouldn’t want that would we? Well, we’ll just have to think of a new nickname then.”

Vala, still flirting outrageously ran her foot up to John’s thigh,

“How about Big boy?”

John groaned.

Vala’s martini turned up first, she took a cautious sip, made a surprised moue of pleasure, and took a much larger gulp,

“Oh John, this is fabulous.”

When the screaming orgasm turned up it was a thick creamy monstrosity, that seemed to consist entirely of sugar, dairy, and just enough alcohol to give you a hangover. John took a tiny sip and couldn’t quite hold in his disgusted expression.

Vala burst out laughing, “Oh Beautiful, just for that I think your new nickname just has to be-“

“No don’t say it.”

“Fine.” She pouted outrageously, before with a faux-thoughtful expression suggesting, “S.O. then?”

John gave an exaggerated sigh; if he fought it, he just knew she’d swap back to the full name of the drink. Bad enough that SO was military slang for significant other… But screaming orgasm would be much _much_ worse. He knew he shouldn’t have brought it up. Resignedly John took a large pull of his horrible drink and pulled a disgusted face as he realised how sweet it was all over again.

Vala reached across and swapped their drinks over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOHICA: USAF slang used to describe unpleasant orders. (Bend Over, Here It Comes Again)
> 
> Airman Snuffy: Anyone of lower rank.
> 
> Bag/Box nasties: MREs/the slop they serve to go in the mess.
> 
> Jack's herbal tea thing comes from the scenes in his office at Homeworld Command in SGU, he always had a mug of insipid looking tea for some reason.
> 
> Landry... Oopf I really hope Landry worked here. He's a mass of contradictions between SG-1 and SGA characterisation-wise. It's about as bad as the way the Pegasus Project makes the Atlantis cast fairly out of character to make them fit in with the SG-1 guys. SG-1 Landry is a decent leader, the firm but fair type, with a sly sense of humour. SGA Landry... Is a bit of an ass. I take the view that a lot of that is due to rival bases both vying for funding from the same source... But at least some of it seems to be down to personal dislike. As far as Landry's concerned Sheppard got Sumner killed, Everett prematurely aged, and Dr Weir threatening to sic the President on him...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans at the SGC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm. (mwahaha)
> 
> As always this thing is unbetaed - so if you spot anything particularly embarrassing please do point it out!

** Chapter 4:  **

Rodney didn’t give Sheppard a chance to defend himself, as soon as the Colonel picked up, he started berating his thoughtlessness,

“I can’t believe I had to wait to find out about this from Woolsey! Sheppard!”

Sheppard’s voice was its usual irritating drawl, even over the interference of a phoneline,

“Hello to you too McKay.”

Anger swelled in his breast,

“Don’t you be all nonchalant at me John, you nearly broke your back for a training exercise!”

Sheppard sounded so _reasonable_, he always did when he’d pulled some idiotic stunt,

“I didn’t _know_ it was a training exercise Rodney.”

“That doesn’t make it any better! It was still stupid! You could have died! And then what would we have done? Atlantis needs you! I don’t care about your stupid self-sacrificing nobility, I’m selfish, the expedition needs you John. You could have been **_atomised_**!!”

The noisy static of a sigh being blown into the receiver was the only acknowledgement Rodney’s piece of common sense received,

“How’s things McKay? Met Keller’s folks yet? Worked out the secret to the Asgard Core?”

Rodney spluttered loudly.

“Don’t think you can distract me with science questions Sheppard, I’m wise to your ways! I know you don’t really care about the details.”

Sheppard didn’t deign to acknowledge that statement,

“Well? How’s the Trek-plicator going?”

“Trek- no. No no no no no. We’re _not_ calling it that Sheppard! You’re _not_ allowed to name anything.”

“Well?”

“Urgh it’s a disaster, I think Area 51 gave me everyone they secretly wished would meet a sticky end. I’m surrounded by incompetents.”

John made a noise that could be amusement,

“Yes yes I know, not so different to normal. But these guys are all like Kavanagh squared! They’re incompetent and they’re arrogant! They refuse to listen! I barely averted disaster yesterday when three of them nearly broke their way into the lab with the exploding tumour machine.”

_That_ got a reaction,

“What?!”

Rodney felt vindicated,

“I know! It was only Ronon stepping in with his gun that stopped them. Idiots, they were looking at me like _I_ was being the unreasonable one, and they were _this close _to killing themselves and taking a whole load of us with them!”

John made a grunt of disapproval over the line.

“Anyway, the first of Lantis’s Asgard Core copies is nearly ready.” Rodney smugly told Sheppard all the horrible details, “It’s a _disaster_. We’ve got most of the skeleton of a 304 in the base of the main tower. Those pesky Asgardians really meant it when they said we wouldn’t be able to separate the core from the ship. Even our copies of it need most of a Daedalus class carrier’s system around it in order to keep working.”

“Huh. That must be pretty crowded… The big meeting hall, right?”

“No, the engineering level below the waterline. The space down there is four times bigger than the largest space in the central tower remember. Near the chair room? We never worked out what it was for.” Rodney gesticulated wildly, even knowing that John couldn’t see him, “I keep telling the IOA that, since the Asgard cores can literally build parts by plucking atom out of the atmosphere, that a whole lot of stuff is going to start coming in gratis once we’ve got more than two or three of them properly linked in, so they should just give us our own Daedalus permanently since we’ve already got two thirds of one anyway… But they won’t listen. Money pinching bureaucratic _tightwads_. It’s taken this long for them to decide that the Apollo and Sun Tzu are worth repairing after all, since the Phoenix is still an empty shell at Colson’s shipyard.”

Rodney ran out of steam, then realised that Sheppard would normally have hung up by now. He must be missing his company. Though it was always hard to tell with Sheppard. Even after more than five years of friendship, the other man could still be a complete enigma. Sheppard cut across that thought by asking,

“So, you gotten those copies into the other 304s yet?”

“Other 304s? What? Oh, I _knew_ you weren’t listening the other day! No, you halfwit, the other 304s have all had copies of the data core installed for a couple of years now. It’s the power source that’s the problem, can’t run the Trek-plicators,” Rodney winced as he caught himself using Sheppard’s imbecilic term for the technology, “without a decent supply, and we’ve yet to find anything. That’s why they’re letting us install them in Lantis. We’ve got the ZPMs… For now. Do you honestly think those scrooges would let us have anything decent if there wasn’t something in it for them?”

Rodney eventually wound down as he realised that Sheppard hadn’t said anything for a while,

“Sheppard?”

“Hrmm?”

“Were you listening to a word I said?”

“Of _course_ I was, Rodney!”

“Yeah _right_.”

Rodney didn’t let the infuriating man have the satisfaction of hanging up this time, with great satisfaction he slammed the archaic handset back into its cradle.

*******

** **

Rush was trying to stave off the migraine that had been threatening to overwhelm his sense of time and place all day by sheer bloody-mindedness. It wasn’t working. He’d been running off caffeine fumes and pure spite for nearly seventy-two hours - so caught up in the beautiful lines of crystalline code that spelt out the fifth of the 9-chevron cyphers that basic things like bodily needs had completely bypassed his notice until they’d become so pressing that they’d practically staged a revolt.

Well, Rush was thinking of it as the fifth, he had no idea if anyone had numbered the set. Or even if they’d worked out there _was_ a set. He was a little hazy on the specifics of which details he’d shared. Nick thought there might be ten problems in total. Just as solving the beautiful interlocking puzzle that no one had realised _was_ a fucking puzzle had opened a whole new world of encrypted problems to play with. Though there’d been no evidence for it, Rush just had a _feeling_ that solving the nine obvious exercises would lead to one final challenge.

Rush still couldn’t quite believe what had become of his life. Six months ago, Dr Daniel Jackson walked into his office at Berkeley, and tried to turn his world upside down. It hadn’t worked.

By that point Rush was well-used to mysterious vaguely threatening members of unnamed organisations, most of them representing some government or other, trying to gain his ‘cooperation’ on some matter they refused to disclose. That’s what happened when you solved the P=NP problem, and in one fell swoop of inspired mathematics put all the worlds security systems at risk in a moment of pure fucking genius, if he did say so himself.

Jackson’s softly-softly approach felt like an amusing novelty at the time. Nick vaguely remembered making some sardonic comment about Jackson being the carrot, to the US government’s stick. Then following it up with an outright rude remark about just where he could shove both the fucking stick _and_ the fucking carrot. A week later, David Telford appeared out of nowhere, with a folder full of classified mathematics that he claimed meant he was breaking several dozen laws that would get him sent to Gitmo or worse, if it ever got out - so Rush could never tell _anyone_.

Rush’s memory at that point went hazy, giving way to beautiful lines of mathematics, as the ninefold cryptographic cyphers took over everything. He’d signed on the dotted line there and then. Telford’s hard sell infinitely more effective than Jackson’s fucking kindness.

Gloria had already been unwell then.

Rush had thrown himself headfirst into the glorious alien mathematics and run as far from his life as his mind could take him. The base-eight maths that these, these _Ancients_, favoured just felt _right. _Where other mathematicians found the basic tenets of this alien system of mathematics bewilderingly confusing, Rush thought it made the most sense he’d ever seen in another person’s work.

Glora. Gloria was gone now.

But the problem remained.

In the space of six months Rush cracked four of the cyphers. Well, five, if you counted the larger puzzle that unfurled itself into the nine individual sets contained therein.

He might have gotten more, but... The media buzz around P=NP flared up. Gloria had been unwell. There’d been the Field’s medal. Chemotherapy. Wrapping up his work at the Mathematics department. Avoiding Gloria’s well-meaning friends. Peremptorily seeing out his contracted teaching tenure at UC Berkeley. The funeral. Fending off offers to go to MIT, Stanford, the snobs back at Cornell, and the Ivy League. Avoiding _everything_ to do with music. Being grateful that Gloria had given away her violin, when faced with the utter certainty that he’d have smashed it to innumerable useless splinters. And _then_ he’d had to relocate his whole life from California, pack up everything of the life that he and Gloria built together, and cram it all into the small government provided flat in Colorado Springs.

Apparently in the three years before he’d arrived, no one had even realised that there were _nine_ problems all wrapped in that larger overarching interlocking set. The overpaid and undereducated fools that the US government were employing to crack the set had spent the past three years plugging the supposed address straight into the gate in dozens of different permutations. Apparently getting increasingly perplexed when they received the same result repeatedly. The initial problem was so insultingly simple that Rush had been sincerely _apoplectically_ _fucking_ _furious_ when he realised that no, it really _wasn’t_ an offensively fucking simple interview screening technique but a genuine stumbling block.

The first had been deceptively simple. A simple stream cypher laid out plainly in the inclusions to the basic HCP pseudo-crystalline lattice structure in the Naquadah alloy that apparently all Stargates shared. Doctor Perry had been the one to provide the scientific know-how that allowed him to crack that puzzle, her expertise in all things Ancient extending well beyond the hyperdrive engine systems that were her specialty. Little Miss Brilliant she was. It was absolutely fucking _criminal_ that most people, even here, were so caught up in how brave she was being in the face of her disability to realise that she was a real living person, with an exceptional mind, and a brilliantly cutting sense of humour. But, well, _people_. The fuckers were the same everywhere. Rush wasn’t sure why he’d expected differently just because they’d shown him some alien tech that was gorgeous in its crystalline majesty.

Rush made his way to the mess hall, in search of more caffeine to fend off the impending _bastard _of a headache he could feel gathering behind his eyes. It could possibly be mid-morning? His sense of time had gone completely sideways over the past couple of days.

Making a beeline for the coffee urns Rush’s field of view narrowed down to the caffeine rich ambrosia, tunnelling in anticipation of the relief he’d soon be feeling. (Purely psychosomatic or not.) He could not be _asked_ to make his way all the way to the surface, and through five security checkpoints just to smoke a fa- ciggie, fucking _ciggie_ stupid bloody yanks with their backwards offensive bigotry. Couldn’t even use slang properly, bastards.

No Rush could not be arsed to go topside for a _cigarette_, even though he was fair fucking _gasping_ for it. The nicotine cravings so strong as a chain smoker who’d been forced to cut back, he was sure his hands were fucking _shaking_. (It wasn’t the sleep deprivation, it _wasn’t_.) The caffeine would have to do.

Perhaps inevitably, given that he’d been paying absolutely no fucking attention to where he was going, and that his motor-coordination was all shot to hell… Rush found himself veering into the back of something much larger than himself; the sharp edge of the fruit counter. He was sent sprawling to the concrete floor by the impact. The folder full of 9-chevron problems went flying, though fortunately his laptop wasn’t a casualty, it was still clutched to his chest as he lay stunned and bruised on his back.

To make matters worse an amused voice spoke up,

“Need a hand up? You kinda walked into the fridge there.”

Rush looked up from his prone position on the floor, the most unlikely individual to ever be seen wearing soldier’s fatigues was peering down at him with a concerned expression on his face. For a start the lad was a skinny streak of _nothing_, let alone _that_ hair, artfully standing on end as if its owner had recently been electrocuted. Rush wasn’t one to judge, his own nearly shoulder length hair, proof that he kept forgetting to make a hairdresser’s appointment, though the improbable spikes looked decidedly unruly to his inexpert eye. Far more so than the military types usually allowed. The bags under the taller man’s eyes spoke of too many late nights, and got his headache throbbing again in sympathy.

Rush heard himself saying automatically, “Nono, I’m quite all right thank you.” In a light tone, that even to his ear sounded completely false.

As he pulled himself together and clambered to his feet, the fight or flight instincts, honed by a childhood growing up frequently itinerant in the rougher neighbourhoods in Glasgow, wouldn’t let his heartrate ease down from the near whirr that the jolt of adrenaline from suddenly finding himself in freefall had shot into his system. The soldier, oblivious in his black fatigues, was busily gathering up everything that Rush had dropped when he’d clipped the _fucking fridge_. In truth Rush was fair fucking _mortified_, this little incident was entirely the result of a ludicrous self-induced liability. Nothing to do with the man unembarrassedly crouching on the floor.

Looking around he noticed that whilst the mess was nearly empty at this time of day, people’s eyes _were_ fixed on the entertainment provided by pair of them. He scowled reflexively at the nosey bastards. The group that were clearly members of a gate team stared on unabashed, but the others all redoubled their interest in their trays.

“Oh hey. Cool math problem. Feistel cypher, and Shor’s Algorithm, right?”

Rush blinked up at the soldier, who was unashamedly reading the contents of the somewhat crumpled sheet still in his hand.

“I hope you have the intelligence to understand that reading that is impolite.” Rush spat acerbically.

“Wha-? Oh sorry.” The man scrubbed vigorously at the back of his head, his hair immediately springing up again to its previous improbable position, “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.”

The sheet of paper was hastily thrust towards Rush. Trying to keep his voice polite rather than curt, Rush nodded back,

“Dr Nicholas Rush.”

Neither one of them held out a hand to shake, though Rush understood that was the etiquette. Then again, walking into the_ fucking fridge_ had bypassed etiquette entirely. Rush rubbed at his shoulder, trying to ease the tension there, and strained to resist the urge to glare at the inanimate fucking object that had caused this _catastrophe_ of a social interaction.

The soldier, with no visible rank insignia that Rush could see, passed back the fucking _disaster _that had been made of his work. Rush noted with some concern, that the newly christened Lt Colonel Sheppard, was writing down the ‘math problem’ in his own small notebook, which as Rush looked more closely, he realised was hiding a fucking _Sudoku_ book between its covers. The man played _Sudoku_, the _most_ inane of the time wasting brainteasers. Even worse than those menial mental arithmetic problems, for _fucks_ sake. It was one of the nine chevron problems too, laid out in base 8 maths. The man’s angular scrawl got the details down perfectly, Nick wouldn’t have credited him with the ability to remember something that complex, let alone the intellectual shrewdness to understand what he’d seen for all of a few seconds.

Rush caught an intriguing flash of an equation, and without thinking, snatched the taller man’s Sudoku book away from him, ignoring the exclaimed “Hey! I thought looking was rude!” he got in favour of doing some of his own reading.

Letting out a heartfelt sigh of, “Just like McKay!” (whoever that was) Sheppard wandered off, picking himself a selection of fruit and a sorry looking sandwich from the fare on offer. From the corner of his eye Rush noticed that his hand hovered over one of those foul pudding cups that seemingly _all_ American canteens served, before he snatched it back and moved back to the salads.

“Want anything?” Sheppard quietly called over his shoulder,” Think of it as an apology for reading your work doc.”

“Just coffee please.”

Sheppard eyed Rush dubiously, eyes flicking to Rush’s visibly shaking hands (from the migraine, caffeine, nicotine withdrawal, severe lack of sleep, or adrenaline, Rush didn’t know) but didn’t say anything. Sheppard took his tray over to a corner table, chose the seat that put his back to the corner, and his eyes facing the exits. Rush recognised the move as something he’d used to do habitually back in Glasgow. With no choice but to follow the man if he wanted his coffee, Rush sat down, uncomfortably aware of the open room at his back, and glowered until the mug was passed over.

Sheppard stared blankly back for a long minute, before seeming to realise that Rush was expecting him to say something,

“So doc, what’re you up to at the SGC?”

_Jesus Fucking Christ_. The man’s attempts at small talk were appallingly bad.

“Mathematics.”

Rush’s one-word reply was bitingly concise. Sheppard laughed, an appallingly loud braying donkey-like honk,

“Yeah I _got_ that.”

In lieu of interacting with the daft soldier anymore, Rush continued to flip through the man- the _Colonel’s_ notepads. He noticed with wry disbelief that it appeared to contain a mixture of meeting minutes, a collection of spaceship and aeroplane doodles mixed in with amusingly violent stick figures threatening bodily harm on someone labelled-Strom against a Marilyn Manson-esque monster, basic mathematics puzzles scrawled in another sloping hand, the sort you’d give to a first year undergrad, personnel reports about some people he really couldn’t give a fuck about… and the more intriguing equations relating to energy production that had initially caught his attention.

“Hey doc, are you sure _you’ve_ got the clearance to look at that?”

Despite the words in the question, _Colonel_ Sheppard’s tone was more amused than anything.

“Yes yes. Of course I do.” Rush looked up, tried for a grin, from the look on Sheppard’s face he missed by a mile, “I’m down here below the 11th floor aren’t I?”

“I suppose…” Sheppard didn’t make a move to take the notepad with its illicitly concealed brainteasers back, but he didn’t look convinced.

“What’re these power equations for?” Rush asked, tapping at the page in question with the edge of his mug. This cup would be his… He’d lost count at eight… Rush’s _many’th_ cup of the day. _Fuck_. He was losing his grasp of basic English.

“Uh I’m not sure I should be telling you that Doc.”

Despite the wary tone of voice, there was a smirk playing about Sheppard’s lips. The skin around the Colonel’s eyes crinkled with mischief, Rush took a deep breath and launched into the angry diatribe that was his stock response to students he realized weren’t using their gifts,

“Colonel. Despite the fact that you may have fooled your friend into thinking that you only possess a rudimentary grasp of basic secondary school level mathematics,” Sheppard mouthed ‘secondary school?!’ in clear puzzlement, Rush barrelled on, “I can _tell _merely by looking at the stepwise logic you’ve applied here that these – these petty _puzzles _your friend has set for you are an insult to your ability.”

Sheppard’s face had gone blank.

“It’s clear to me that you spent all of five minutes at _most _working through these things, but this, the _elegance_ of your thought processes here. Either someone taught you 10-dimensional string theory, or you came up with this proposal all by yourself. And somehow, from the eccentricities in your method I suspect the latter.”

“…Doc…” Sheppard’s voice was a pleading whine.

“I think it’s pure dead brilliant Colonel. Though the typical layperson would struggle to follow your logic through some of these intuitive leaps you’ve made. It’s probably why your _friend_ seems to have forgotten that to attain your rank you need a _Master’s_ degree at a _minimum_, and it’s clear to me that yours must be in some branch of mathematics,” Rush speculated out loud, “combinatorics? Applied or theoretical?”

Despite his previous high praise Rush _immediately_ wanted to rescind the words as he watched with abject fucking horror the gaping look of blank idiotic incredulousness cross the other man’s face.

“Right, yes. Well. Very good. I’ve got to go. Colonel.” Rush nodded, quickly backed out of the cantee-_cafeteria _and fled that damning expression of stunned ‘someone acknowledged me!’ that he was more used to seeing on the more vulnerable of his student’s faces than a grown man. He wasn’t here to make friends and influence people. Let alone rescue a soldier of the United States Armed Forces from what looked like a severe case of intellectual starvation.

Halfway down the corridor, Rush’s rusty conscience got the better of him. It clicked. He was _that_ Colonel Sheppard. The one that several of the SGC scientists were convinced was some sort of closeted prodigy. That damned gate team watched him stalk back into the cafeteria like it was a ringside sporting match, he sneered at them again, and marched over to Sheppard,

“Come with me Colonel, I’ve got something you might like to see.”

“Huh?” The colonel sent him a look of total idiocy.

Oh, why the _fuck_ did he bother?

***

Vala was roving around the lab levels, she was bored. Bored! Normally she’d hang out with Sam or work off some steam in the gym with the team, or most fun of all, go and poke at Danny. But SG-1 were all off doing their own thing right now. Sam had the _Hammond_, Teal’c was off organising the Free Jaffa Nation, and Daniel, he’d left for Atlantis. _Again_. Even Cam, though he was in the mountain at least, was busy doing paperwork in the cupboard he called an office – paperwork!

Alas the Tau’ri held such a dim view of Vala’s usual methods of entertaining herself, so she was stuck at a loose end. They never seemed to understand, that day by day, hour by hour, Vala had to choose to make the decision _not to fall back on learned behaviour_. Not to fall into the habits of a lifetime and do what her father taught her from birth. Or worse, give in completely, and fall into the learned pattern of recreating what Qetesh would have done_._

Her own father had _sold_ her. He’d instilled in her the belief that she was only worth what she could earn. She’d been host to Qetesh, watched herself do terrible things. Afterwards had been no improvement; the Tok’ra had tortured Qetesh before the end, uncaring of the damage they were doing to the Host. Just like the Goa’uld they claimed to abhor, they’d acted as if Vala wasn’t even there to take into consideration. Of course, Qetesh fled from the pain, retreated into herself, leaving Vala to endure all the torture for her unwanted passenger. When she’d escaped their clutches? When she’d made it to Thor’s Hammer with no help from anyone but herself? She’d lived through enough injustice, endured deprivations of the like most of the Tau’ri she’d met could never even _conceive_ of. Their dangerously immutable morality was such a foreign concept to her. That startling belief that they were inherently good, that they were capable of arbitrating right and wrong. It was _intoxicating_, and terrifying.

Dragging her thoughts away from the dark memories with an effort, Vala ducked into Dr Lee’s lab. He was always willing to be entertaining. She was surprised to see it was full of people. _Hello_, this looked like it could be fun. There was a whole crowd of Tau’ri science types in there, all peering at, and arguing about whatever was written on the huge white board that had taken up residence in the corner of the room Sam normally used.

Predictably, like hearing a word for the first time, and then hearing it _everywhere_, Dr Perry’s friend was there – the irritable Doctor Rush. Vala decided that she really needed to dig up the dirt on that _fascinating_ Tau’ri specimen. Doctors Lee and Felger were arguing, loudly, about the impossibility of working out whatever was scrawled on the board.

“No no no! You incompetent halfwit!”

“Oh kek! Like you’d know anything you, _you,_ Moonguard!”

“Oh not the altar of Rodenderry again!”

“It’s Rodenberry! Roden_berry! _Even I know that. And no, it’s the horde you nincompoop!”

Vala was competent at certain kinds of science; when you relied on your own wits, and whichever salvaged spacecraft you could get your hands on for interstellar travel, you couldn’t afford not to be. But… Vala peered again at the indecipherable nonsense on the board. Whatever was written up there was beyond her. She could tell there were several sets of equations scrawled on the large board, but that was the extent of it.

Vala decided to fade into the background, it looked like this little drama would be more entertaining if she didn’t join in for once. Dr Rush was, predictably, looking very angry at the small crowd gathered around him – oh, that _was_ a surprise, the _beautiful _Colonel Sheppard was sat discreetly on a lab stool, slightly off to the side, watching the proceedings with interest. She _liked_ the man, with his closed off demeanour that hinted at all sorts of _dangerous_ things underneath. He’d ducked out on her before they could get up to any _real_ mischief last night, more’s the pity. Vala could still just about make out hints of the _beautiful_ young man that lurked under that competently dangerous exterior. For his sake she’d refrain from calling him Beautiful again - when she remembered. Just as Rush was a fascinating puzzle, Sheppard was intriguing. So like, and yet utterly unlike her dear Cam, with more parallels with Daniel than she suspected either of them wanted to admit to. Behind that deliberate blankness of his, all sorts of things were going on.

“You don’t even have a doctorate!”

Ah that was Doctor Kavanagh, berating a slightly portly olive-skinned man. Behind him a similarly chubby tall blond spoke up,

“Oh Kavanagh, as if your doctorate means anything decent. _You_ blew up Midway.” Blondy gestured at dark haired with a tan, “At least Brody would have managed to help save it.”

“I did not! _He’s_ only an engineer!”

“Compared to your Salieri, _Mr_ Brody over there is a Mozart.”

Kavanagh might have been attractive, tall, dark haired, and with a certain air about him - if not for his appalling attitude toward anyone that he deemed to be less intelligent than himself, which was everyone. His attitude towards the people that intimidated him was almost worse, sycophantic slimy brown-nosing that somehow meant he got away with his actions. Vala had met plenty of his type over the years. She tended to think it was her duty to subtly (or not so subtly) wind them up.

“Oh, for god’s sake! Enough with the music references, _we all get it Volker_, you had an ‘education’. Look all I’m saying is that there’s _no way_ of getting into a DHD to get that information out again!”

The newly identified Volker, and Mr Brody did not look appeased, the argument looked as if it was about to round up a gear, unexpectedly Sheppard interjected,

“What about applying a zero-knowledge protocol to Birch and Swinnerton Dyer?”

His voice was abstracted, dreamy. Immediately Kavanagh began to scoff,

“Elliptic curves? Hah! Don’t make me laugh Colonel, besides you wouldn’t understand this stuff if it bit you on the as-“

“_Shut up_!”

A quiet voice cut across the commotion. It was Doctor Rush.

“No, I certainly will not!”

All the other scientists stopped their own fights to watch the back and forth. Rush spun around and grabbed the much taller man, he pulled him down so they were nose to nose and gritted out in that quiet threatening tone,

“Yes ye will ye little _imbecile_, before I shut yer mouth for ye!”

Kavanagh’s response was high pitched, “I’m telling HR about this!!”

“I couldnae giveafuck ye stoopid wee bawbag! Go git pumped!” Still clutching Kavanagh’s shirt tightly, Rush turned to Sheppard, and perfectly politely asked, “What was that about Swinnerton-Dyer, Colonel?”

The contrast in Rush’s attitude was comical.

“Uh. Well if we used Hilbert’s there” Sheppard hesitantly gestured at a section of the board, “And used Hasse-well on that thingy. I think it could solve it, at least for that question up there.”

Gesturing hesitantly at one of the problems scrawled on the board, Sheppard stuttered to a stop at the stunned silence. Vala wanted to give the man a hug, but from his standoffish body language with absolutely _everyone_, S.O. fairly _radiated_ a large ‘do not touch’ perimeter around himself. It was broadcasting particularly strongly now.

“Yes. Yesyesyes.” Rush’s muttered imprecation was loud in the quiet, “Colonel, ye’ve only gone and dun it. Tha’s fair fucking fantastic!”

“I- what?”

Sheppard looked stunned. That uneasy radius of personal space easing back down to that thoroughly intriguing tendency to lean in, as if he dearly wanted to touch and be touched, edged with that skittish fear, that Vala kept catching hints of. It was a fascinating puzzle, paired with that darkness in his eyes, filled with hard-earned unpleasant knowledge that she _knew_ was reflected in her own. Sometimes Vala hated that part of her, that was always active, always eyeing up everyone around her for tells, weaknesses, constantly reading body-language, looking for ways to manipulate, cajole, deceive, where to hit hardest. In this case though it was like Daniel all over again, the man was thoroughly intriguing, and he’d ignited that all too rare urge to _protect_.

Despite the stretched collar of his shirt Kavanagh seemed to feel the need to add his piece again,

“Oh, like _you _understand anything about physics, _you’re_ a theoretical mathematician!”

“When I want yer advice. I’ll give ye the fucking signal. Which is me being sectioned under the fucking Mental Health Act!” Kavanagh blinked, totally nonplussed. Rush turned to gloat, “Hah! I knew channelling Malcolm Tucker would shut ye up ye wee gobshite!”

Kavanagh opened his mouth, the other woman in the room, who up until that moment had been quiet, stepped between them,

“Stop it! Stop shouting!”

Dr Rush immediately looked chagrined, with a sheepish expression he stepped back, “Sorry Lisa.”

Kavanagh looked as if he were about to start something again, Mr Brody stepped up behind the petite Eurasian woman, and glared over her shoulder at Kavanagh,

“Sorry Doctor Park.”

“Good.” Dr Park looked around at the rest of the scientists, “Now, let’s all behave like the adults we are, yes?” She turned to Sheppard and cheerily asked, “What made you think of elliptic curves?”

Slouched on his stool as he was, Sheppard’s shoulders were hunched up around his ears, as if he expected some sort of mockery. When none came, they slowly eased their way back towards a more comfortable position. He blinked at her, “Uh, can’t you see it?”

“No, I can’t.” Sheppard started to look uncomfortable again, but Dr Park ploughed on rapidly, “But if Doctor Rush is getting all excited, then I believe you. Really, I do. And it’s incredibly exciting, and frustrating. Because I _should_ be able to see it too, but I can’t. So, show me what you see?” She turned pleading eyes on Sheppard, Vala was impressed, “Please?”

Sheppard rubbed at his hair and hesitantly spat out an explanation that was even less intelligible than the previous one,

“Well… It’s like that guy in that show who’s really stupid compared to everyone else, the one with the plant-lady, floating slug emperor, Samus, and even the mad guy with the mask”, Sheppard briefly devolved into mimes and whisper shouting, “**M_y_**_ side, **your** side, **my** side!” _

Dr Park looked alarmed, just as it looked like she was about to take a step back, Sheppard stopped, scrubbed as his hair again, and embarrassedly huffed out, _“_But he sees wormholes, yunno?”

Parks eyes widened, in complete baffled incomprehension, “Uh what?”

Comically Sheppard looked just as confused as Dr Park did, “1812? The wonders I’ve seen?” he asked slowly.

Dr Lee looked as if he understood what Sheppard was going on about, and Dr Volker seemed to be nodding along, but the rest of the scientists looked utterly blank. It was good to know that not all the Tau’ri were following. Vala had begun to think she’d _never _understand all the shorthand and references they constantly babbled to each other in, but from the looks of it, neither did they.

From his spot next to Dr Park, Dr Rush was clearly trying not to laugh at everyone else. Dr Park opened her mouth, presumably to ask for clarification of Sheppard’s pitiable attempts to explain himself.

“Knock! Knock!” A British voice interrupted the attempt at a meaningful heart to heart, Vala’s head whipped around, along with everyone else’s, Dr Ingram was in the doorway. Dr Rush shot him a filthy look, he opened his mouth, no doubt to say something amusingly rude, but Ingram started talking first,

“Oh. Oh my. Is that what I think it is?” He walked right up to the whiteboard and peered myopically at it through his glasses, “That looks positively _unsolvable_.” His gleeful tone was utterly at odds with his words, rather like his appearance. He was a tall, thin, dark skinned man, with an accent that Vala had been assured was from London, but unlike the rest of the scientists at the SGC in their apparent uniform of ill-fitted dress shirt and khakis, he was wearing an impeccably tailored suit, paired incongruously with a hooded sweatshirt and high-top Jordan sneakers.

“Yes yes Ben. It’s precisely what you think it is.” Rush’s tone was snappish. He turned toward Sheppard, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable again. Vala decided it was past time that she interrupted, “Oh darlings, you don’t think there’d be untold _treasures_ at the other end of this address, do you?”

Vala didn’t think she was imagining the relief on Sheppard’s, or Dr Rush’s faces as her distraction worked. Ben Ingram cheerfully waded into the bickering match between Kavanagh and everyone else, seeming to relish every minute of the contest of geekdom one-upmanship. She noted that Rush and Sheppard were talking quietly together in the background, aided and abetted by the British newcomer.

“Oh shut up Ingram, everyone knows your minor was in Norse Mythology of all things. You may have majored in engineering but you’re no-”

“Oh shut up yourself Kavanagh.” Ingram really did seem to relish the confrontation, “If you were half as clever as you think you are, you’d know there’s no such thing as a major _or_ a minor at the University of Cambridge. I _read_ the Engineering Tripos, I _joined_ the Norse Historical Society. Then again you wouldn’t know that you ignorant… _yank_. You probably think port has something to do with ships and all Brits like tea. PS we don’t.”

During the inevitable squawk of outrage Vala slipped away from the continuing <strike>argument</strike> discussion, and, purely for the fun of it, hacked her way into Daniel’s computer.

She typed Doctor Nicholas Rush carefully into the delightfully quaint little planetwide database that the Tau’ri seemed so proud of and gaped at the amount of information that immediately sprung up. Vala hadn’t expected it to be _that_ easy, she’d been <strike>hoping for </strike>anticipating having to practice her old skills back from when she’d been an …_independent_ agent, but here it was all laid out. Now if only she could find some context for this information.

_Dr Nicholas Rush, controversial Mathematician and Cryptographer. Spent his early years in Glasgow, educated at Oxford and Cambridge. Tenured at Cornell University and later Berkeley. Fields medallist famous for cracking the P=NP problem and putting encryption at risk globally. Where is he now?_

Cracking her knuckles Vala opened a new ‘tab’ on the little search function and prepared to find out what the article she’d found actually meant.

***

Kavanagh couldn’t believe that Sheppard had tried to show him up. Of all people, the stupid ignorant air force officer had been the one all his peers had sided with. Even the normally friendly Dr Park had taken the damned grunt’s side.

He seethed quietly to himself in his corner of the mess, glowering unsubtly at the distinctive head of messy hair. How on earth did the lackadaisical careless failure of a leader get away with it? He didn’t follow the rules of his own organisation. He risked the lives of everyone around him with his laissez-faire approach to management. And now, to add insult to injury, he was encroaching on Kavanagh’s territory on top of it all.

It. It wasn’t _fair_.

The management at the SGC never listened to his complaints. They’d been perfectly valid criticisms of a dangerous disregard for health and safety. But they’d gotten him kicked from position to position like a rescue dog that no one could tolerate for more than a few weeks.

“Hey there.”

Kavanagh startled violently. He looked up; it was a Colonel. But, no one he’d cared to learn the name of. The grunt must have spotted his lack of recognition,

“Colonel Dixon.”

“Dr Peter Kavanagh.”

The grunt had the effrontery to look amused,

“Yeah Doc, I know who you are.”

“What do you want?”

“I couldn’ help but notice you were glowerin mighty fierce at Sheppard o’er there.”

“What? No. No I wasn’t!”

“Shh shh, it’s fine Doc, no skin off my nose. In fact, I might have a couple of suggestions for you. See, we all know that ol’ Shep there don't much like bugs if you catch my drift.”

Kavanagh grinned maliciously.

***

In the glorified store cupboard that the SGC claimed was his office, John was catching up on his paperwork. The AAR for the final training exercise was filled with doublespeak and other non-accusations about the whole sorry affair, though Sheppard had taken care to be thorough in his attributions to the three Lieutenants who’d temporarily been under his command. They really did deserve their spots on the programme. He was damned if he’d let his unpopularity rub off on them.

Since he was stuck on leave without permission to go off base until Lam removed the stitches, John was being a good little boy and trying to ensure Landry found no more excuses to label him unfit for his post. Though he had to admit, if the senior officer wanted to oust him John had given him more than enough excuses over the years. He was only grateful that he’d been somewhat sensible last night and not taken up Vala’s offer of another round of drinks. John had seen the flirtation in her smile and taken it for the reflexive action it was, rather than anything genuine. They’d gotten back to the mountain well before midnight and parted amicably enough. He hadn’t even had a hangover in the morning. John _had_ discovered that most of the muscles in his left side had seized up overnight however, so he’d admitted defeat and popped a couple of the pills Lam had forced on him. Sheppard hated the way strong pain meds usually led to some loss of control, but there hadn’t been anything else for it – if he’d thought he was feeling stiff before, it was _nothing_ compared to the immobility he’d been faced with first thing.

Sighing, John finished the AAR, and moved on to the rest of the pile. Which was sizeable. The _other_ paperwork to deal with was of the even more bureaucratic variety, unfortunately. The IOA were forcing John to go back over his years as CO of Atlantis and justify every requisition, additional member of his battalion, and his every action since the year dot. Now that they’d witnessed the dangers up close, they were _finally_ listening about the danger the Wraith posed. Regrettably, their reaction was a useless combination of greed and outright panic.

The only upside to the sorry situation was that, barring the sheer unadulterated _chaos_ that had been the ridiculously steep learning curve of suddenly having the mantle of command dropped on his head in the First Year - Sheppard had actually been pretty damned thorough about all this crap the first time around.

He hadn’t wanted to give the SGC an excuse to oust him, after their reluctance to let him stay on in the city had been made so blatantly obvious. It helped too that he had a bureaucrat of his own on side this time, Mr Woolsey had pointedly offered to read over anything John was willing to send him, which John had taken to mean, ‘For god’s sake, let me check over _everything_ before you give it to those vipers!’ 

Still, it was a whole _hell_ of a lot of paperwork to get through. Damned queep.

He’d been at it for _hours_ and was still only up to the fourth month of the First Year. Even though this stuff had already been gone over with a fine-toothed comb back when they’d first contacted earth again. Sheppard had just gotten up to the… sheer _idiocy_ that was his behaviour when the nanovirus had been unleashed on them all, and he’d been so determined to contribute to the situation that he’d made everything even worse.

Sighing John picked up the model of a Harrier Jump Jet that just happened to be the miniature plane closest to hand when he’d hurriedly grabbed a few essentials from his Atlantis office during the rushed transfer to the SGC all those weeks ago. It was a neat little plane, with its fully vertical take-off. Being USAF, not RAF, he’d never gotten the chance to take one up, mores the pity. Though, jump jets notwithstanding, John still thought the USAF was far superior overall. He gently put the thing back on its stand; the single bit of personalisation in the dull concrete box that was his life for the foreseeable future made him miss Lantis even more wholeheartedly. 

Well, there was one other thing.

John felt it burning at him through the layers of chipboard and laminate of his desk.

_That_ folder.

Had he made a mistake letting Rush cajole him into doing that little bit of math?

John had to wonder.

In a desk draw, half hidden under the holepunch and the empty files, in the same rough spot where he usually stashed it, lay a well-thumbed and battered folder. It contained a problem he’d been chewing at, on and off, for decades. He’d started working on it in the 80s, long before he’d signed on to the OTS after finishing his master’s at Stanford, and before the master’s in aeronautics he’d finished at Maxwell. He’d _meant_ to finish it, but the Balkans had happened. Then those years that meant Shep’s file was more blacked out space than legible text. Then Afghanistan, and somehow there’d never been the time to give to the rush of pure wonder that mathematics had inspired when he was younger. Before everything he’d seen and done rushed in to fill that space in his head instead. After his first TOD whenever John shut his eyes and tried to summon that mind frame, all he got was images of blood and sand, or worse, icy cold, the fetid stink of rot, and the flash of an a-bomb. Perhaps it was penance for everything he’d done.

Sometimes, in his darker moments, John wondered if he’d lost it entirely; the intelligence to even _begin_ to try to pick up where he’d left off. It was a quiet source of melancholy for most in the field; that for the vast majority who were bright enough to make a breakthrough, their best work was over before they hit twenty. Most mathematics undergrads had _already_ aged out of the sort of brilliance that triggered most innovations in the field _before_ the education system deemed them ready to start learning the sort of math that they really needed to get going.

John always felt that he’d left part of himself behind when he’d sold his soul to the Air Force. Not that he’d give up the sheer joy of flight for _anything_. Or the difference he’d made, would hopefully _still_ make, out there. Even as a large part of him nagged that all too often that difference wasn’t all that positive. Perhaps it was going over the First Year again that was doing it; the guilt for having woken the Wraith sat particularly heavy this afternoon.

John figured it was apt, losing the joy of math to his sins. Like most pilots he had his superstitions; he didn’t think it was a coincidence that he’d come back from that awful off the books mission, blood still under his nails that simply _wouldn’t_ scrub off (he’d tried, god how he’d tried), and Nancy had turned to him with _that_ look on her face. An awful expression of rage, hopelessness, _hatred_. He hadn’t been there for her. There’d been… a child. _Their_ child. He hadn’t even known. And he _hadn’t been there_. John hadn’t contested the divorce, hadn’t wanted to hurt her even more. Accepted the blame as his father automatically assumed the worst of him, threw himself into his work… It was why he’d behaved so monstrously towards Teyla when he’d first found out about Torren. He’d been _terrified_ for her, for her child, hadn’t wanted to be responsible for yet another death…

With an explosive snort of effort John forced himself to stop thinking about such things. _This_ was why he hated strong meds. His mind was all over the place. Sheppard rubbed at eyes long since gone dry, and decided to go grab another cup of joe, paperwork was always weirdly tiring. John had been sat on his ass for hours, but he was as worn out as if he’d been running from the Wraith all day.

John made it to the coffee corner on this level, glad that he’d been dumped up here with the scientists, since the civilians had all protested the distance to the mess and started fixing himself a cup. Someone had left the pot empty, and the scant, burnt looking, quarter of an inch left in the bottom of the pot was full of sediment. Sheppard felt more than heard it when someone came up behind him. He turned and was nastily surprised to look up at Kavanagh’s sneering face. The tall doctor was uncomfortably close, the concept of personal space completely disregarded. He was using that height difference to loom. John wasn’t impressed. He’d been loomed at by _experts_, Ronon, Caldwell, Colonel Telford, Kolya, _Todd. _Kavanagh merely looked constipated.

“Dr Kavanagh.” John said pleasantly.

“Colonel.” Kavanagh smiled spitefully.

John did his best to ignore him, he got on with fetching the bag of coffee beans out of the cupboard at head height.

There was a noise too close, skittering right next to his ear, he jerked around on reflex and saw it.

***

Vala was strolling down the corridor, heading towards Sam’s lab space when she spotted the confrontation. Tall and slimy was leaning over S.O. in the coffee cubby. Why wasn’t he doing anything about it? If Vala knew anything about the Tau’ri after all these years living in their company, it was that their military were generally capable of fending for themselves. Then again, she’d also learned that the Tau’ri tended to regard those among them who volunteered to walk through the Chappa’ai as slightly insane. And both men obliviously standing before her fit into that category.

She flashed a grin that was all daggers and tears, well then, what on Chronos’s hairy behind was going on here?

To Vala’s disbelief, Kavanagh was the one who started it. One minute Beautiful (oh, she could still call S.O. that in the privacy of her own head) was clutching at a bag of that disgusting dreck that the ignorant Tau’ri who’d never tasted the ambrosia of the stimulant Telar root called coffee. The next the coffee cubby was a confusion of motion. There were brown beans _everywhere_. (The fussy Tau’ri scientists had insisted on beans and a grinder.) Kavanagh knocked the pot and warmer to the floor as he scrambled away from Sheppard. Sheppard was… Sheppard was freaking out. She recognised the signs for what they were, the Tau’ri called them flashbacks, Vala had known them as memory traps.

What had triggered it?

Kavanagh was backing away clutching a large grotesquely oversized insect in one hand, and a recording device still making skittering noises in the other.

Oh.

Oh by Yu’s shrivelled scrotum! That spiteful coward! Vala internally descended into an angry stream of Goa’uld invective. She’d learnt a lot of curses from Qetesh over the years. Vala had no idea what the story was behind S.O.s reaction to the insect, but Kavanagh was clearly aware of it, and had cruelly exploited it. Sheppard was alternately clutching at his neck and making warding gestures at Kavanagh. He backed himself into the corner of the coffee cubby.

Vala became aware of another person in the corridor, it was Doctor Ingram, he was staring in horrified sympathy at the situation.

“Flashback huh?”

Vala saw his face go dark when he spotted the giant insect.

“Oh that _little shit_! Kavanagh triggered it on purpose!?”

The previously mild Tau’ri turned fierce eyes on her, “Let’s deal with this together?”

Vala flashed a smile that was all broken glass, “Partners? Like, Mulder and Scully?”

Ingram tched at her, “Yeah, sure, why not? Who’d you want to take?”

“Normally I’d want to deal with the revenge. But… S.O. over there is stuck in his own memories, and I know what that feels like.”

Ingram took a moment to parse her words, before he grinned at her all empathy and anticipation of _doing something about this_,

“Ah, you want me to deal with Dr Kavanagh?”

“Oh no…” Vala’s answering smile was pure Qetesh, “I’ll _deal_ with Kavanagh eventually. But for now, I want to take care of John.”

“Deal.”

Before Vala could step forward Ingram called out, his accent thickening,

“Oi! Kavanagh you dickhead! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The tall Tau’ri turned a skittish look their way. Before he understood that his little act of unkindness had witnesses, he’d been all bravado and anger. As soon as he spotted them, he seemed to shrink, his tall frame collapsing in on itself as he realised, he’d been caught in the act. Ingram marched over and snatched the still squirming insect from the taller man. (It really was disgustingly large whatever it was.)

“S.O.”

Vala warily approached the downed Tau’ri soldier. He was breathing harshly and didn’t seem to hear her. Having been in his position several times too many herself, Vala was very aware that in this situation the individual trapped in their memories could lash out at friends and allies without realising what they were doing. She squatted down to his level, so she wasn’t looming, and, keeping her distance started a low murmur of comforting ‘I am here, this is now, and you are safe’ phrases.

Behind her she was aware that Ingram was lowly ripping Kavanagh a new one, to coin a Tau’ri saying.

“You’re an absolute wanker! You wanted to go to HR about a little argument, did you? Well you’ve certainly given HR something to chew on now you bastard!”

Gradually Sheppard seemed to come back to himself. Vala kept up the stream of gentle nonsense until John met her eyes. He tiredly rubbed a hand over his face, and got out in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper,

“I’ve usually got a better grip on myself than this.”

He met her gaze desperately, grey-green eyes apprehensive,

“It’s just… I’ve been going over the First Year pretty in depth all morning, and well, it dragged up old memories.”

Vala really didn’t understand what he was talking about, but she knew enough,

“Shh, Sheppard, John, it’s alright. I’ve been there. There’s no shame in it. And _certainly_ no need to explain.”

“It must have been Lam’s _damned_ pills.” He groaned lowly, “I should have known not to take the things. Muscle relaxants my ass.”

Ingram sent Kavanagh fleeing, the dark skinned Tau’ri had kept hold of the evidence of the taller scientist’s cowardly attack and was glaring daggers at the man’s retreating back. Curled in the protective circle of her arms Sheppard came back to himself fully, groaning and rubbing at his face. S.O. blinked reddened eyes up at her, then immediately started panicking,

“Crap, Vala they’re already looking for an excuse to kick me out. This is it.”

Vala rashly made her promise, “No, no Beautiful” He was still out of it enough that he didn’t protest the nickname, “They won’t. I promise.”

“How can you possibly say that? They’re gonna call it PTSD. They’re gonna say I’m _unfit_.”

“No, no they won’t. Do you know how many times SG-1 have fallen into their memories? By Nirrti’s sour pout! Cam sometimes falls into mind traps that aren’t even _his_. They won’t care, they know people who use the Chappa’ai regularly see too much.” Beautiful did not look at all convinced, Vala huffed, “If you’re that worried. We won’t let them find out. Though it will make getting vengeance on tall and slimy over there more difficult.”

Sheppard bleakly gestured towards the red LED steadily burning in the corner, and the camera above it.

“Dr Ingram?” Vala fluttered her eyelashes winsomely at the _handsome_ dark skinned Tau’ri scientist, still glaring at the corridor Kavanagh had fled down he didn’t seem to notice,

“Yes, Ms Mal Doran?”

“I don’t suppose you know how to delete CCTV footage?”

Ingram grinned widely at her, his voice took on a sing-song tone that Vala knew meant he was probably quoting something, accent and all,

“Oh, Vala me dear. I’ve just been _waitin_ for the opportunity to use the skills acquired from my misspent youth.”

Vala clambered to her feet, she deliberately let her gaze linger over his form as leaned up against him, he playfully nudged her clearly recognising her game for what it was. She was surprised, too often the Tau’ri, even those who’d been through the Chappa’ai as often as SG-1, were too clean cut for their own good. This seeming youth got it though.

For the first time since this whole stinking situation had started, Vala grinned genuinely.

“Dr ingram, am I glad I met you.” She hauled S.O. to his feet, “See John? Everything is going to be _great_.”

Ingram kept up a steady stream of indecipherable Tau’ri computer babble, Sheppard was nodding along as if he followed it, even as he allowed himself to be guided through the nearly empty lab space. They moved slowly, S.O. was moving stiffly, and looked pale and shaky. The only other person in the large open-plan area was Dr Park, the woman looked anxiously over at them, and moved as if to try and help, but Ingram impatiently gestured her away.

“Don’t worry about a thing Colonel. I’ll soon have everything sorted out.”

True to his word Ingram made an immediate beeline for the server room. An exclamation of ‘Who wrote this crappy firewall!?’ could be heard as it seemed like he immediately got into the systems. Vala sent Sheppard on his way to Dr Lee’s office. The rotund Tau’ri seemed to have a soft spot for the Colonel and was kind enough not to say anything if he noticed that John was looking especially pale and interesting. Vala shoved S.O. inside and spat out a half-truth,

“Dr Lam gave him the bad drugs. They didn’t agree with him.”

Lee worriedly raked his eyes over S.O.’s pale visage,

“Oh dear! I’ll give her a call?”

Beautiful certainly looked ill enough to sell the ruse.

“Come on Colonel, sit down sit down! I’m sure I can find a nice cup of coffee somewhere. Then we can talk about aeronautics, how about that?”

Lee bustled over and asked in an undertone,

“Do we need to take him to the infirmary?”

“No I think the worst of it has passed, Cameron’s always complaining that muscle relaxants are too strong, and Sheppard over there probably didn’t know to halve the dose.”

Vala shot the friendly Tau’ri a grateful look and backed out of the lab, she had to find someone to help her plot her retaliation.

***

Joe Spencer’s life was on the up. He’d reconnected with his wife and got to see meet his now grown son every week for coffee. It wasn’t, things _weren’t_ back to the way they were, before the stone, and the Stargate, and Jack O’Neill and the System lords. But life was good.

Business at the barber shop was doing well. Charlene had hinted that she might be willing to start dating him again but take it slow.

He’d left Jerry in charge of the shop, it was his turn to go on the lunch run, and he fancied Italian – meatball subs and fries were the order of the day. Humming to himself he cut across the alley between Main Street and 3rd Avenue. Joe rounded the mess of dumpsters and commercial refuse that characterised these back streets, whistling the theme of Wormhole Xtreme cheerfully. It really was a beautiful day. Blue skies, but not yet high summer, so the desert climate wasn’t unbearably hot.

Joe was startled when he nearly walked into a guy in a suit coming the opposite way,

“Sorry man, didn’t see you there.”

“Oh that’s fine, not many people take this shortcu-“

Something impacted on his skull, and all Joe knew was black.

***

** **

After the earlier unpleasantness Vala decided to treat herself by <strike>tormenting</strike> teasing Doctor Rush, and drag him kicking and screaming into her scheme to avenge S.O’s state of mind. Of course, that meant she had to find the lovely storm of compressed hatred made flesh first. She tracked the little barely contained ball of seething rage wrapped in the thinnest shell of false civility down in the labs with Dr Perry. In hindsight, after spending a good forty minutes looking for the Tau’ri scientist the location was painfully obvious. Vala had seen them keeping each other company plenty of times before.

As she neared Dr Perry’s lab, she caught some of their conversation,

“Oh Nick please, as if you have a leg to stand on” Dr Perry’s voice took on a mocking high-pitched edge, and an accent that Vala guessed was her attempt to mimic Rush’s, “Mister_ ‘David can go suck on a giant cock, oh wait no, he’s the only member of the military willing to let me take my work off-base please come back Colonel Telford all is forgiven, kissy kissy.’ _You know he’s got a valid point about coding that problem into that Wormhole Xtreme game they’re all talking about.”

Rush’s tone was warmly exasperated,

“Oh Mandy, please stop it. You know I’ve only had access to the cyphers for six months. I unlocked the problems within a day, they’d been sitting with their thumbs up their collective arses for going on _four_ years. I’ll get them, I know it.”

“Yes Nick, but at what cost?” There was a pause “There’s no shame in asking for help.” 

“Yes yes.” Rush’s tone was polite but abstracted, “Did you know about that Colonel? The closet maths prodigy?”

“Who?”

“Oh Sheppard, I asked Davi-“

“See? You two _are_ friends!”

“No, no we’re not. I can’t stand the man, he thinks he’s being subtle in his blatant attempts at manipulation, I only put up with him because he’s so use-“

“Pot, kettle, Nick.”

“_Anyway_. Sheppard, he has a Masters in theoretical mathematics, or combinatorics, I’m not sure which. He’s a natural. It’s the most frustrating thing I’ve ever seen.”

Vala chose that moment to stick her head around the door,

“Most Frustrating thing Gorgeous?”

Before Rush could retort, Dr Perry playfully interjected,

“Yes, Nick’s just telling me all about his latest crush.”

“Oh, do tell me more!”

“Mandy!”

Dr Perry’s eyes sparkled with mischief,

“Well much as Nicholas likes to deny it, we both know he’s BFFs with Colonel Telford.”

“I am nay such thing!”

Dr Perry continued as if he hadn’t interrupted,

“It seems to me that Telford is about to be ousted from his throne.”

Vala leaned deliberately into Rush’s space, her breasts pressing against his upper arm as she reached across him to grab a pen, she was gratified that he didn’t seem to notice. Her instincts that he was one she could get to trust seemed to have been right.

“What de you want Ms Mal Doran?”

Ah time to get to the point,

“Yes speaking of S.O.” Vala spotted Dr Perry’s confused expression and quickly corrected, “Sheppard, Dr Rush I need your help.”

Gorgeous looked puzzled.

“With what?”

It wasn’t a no.

“Dr Kavanagh pulled a nasty _prank _on Colonel Beautiful, made him believe he wasn’t fit to lead when _Kavanagh’s_ the one who’s only worthy to suck on a Goa’uld larva. I saw. I was there. I want revenge.”

Vala hastily went over the bare bones of the situation without delving too deeply into what had happened. Both Rush and Dr Perry looked gratifyingly angry.

“Revenge?” To Vala’s surprise the enthusiastic response was from Amanda, “What did Kavanagh do now, and how can we help?”

“Mandy…”

Dr Perry’s voice was teasing over the rhythmic sound of the ventilator,

“Now Nicholas, can you think of a better way to seal your friendship?”

Rush let out a noise that was part exasperation part acceptance.

“Aright then. What’s the plan?”

*******

Bill led John to a lab stool and started bustling around with his private coffee machine. All the scientists seemed to have something. A woman hesitantly stood in the doorway, Lee didn’t seem to think anything of it,

“Hey Lisa.”

“Bill. Is everything okay?”

John warily watched her; she’d been in the open plan cubical area when he’d had his… breakdown. Crap. Now that he thought about it, had she seen? Was she going to tell anyone? Oh, John knew that the SGC took a more modern approach to PTSD than Big Air Force generally. They tended to focus on treatment, not discharge. He’d signed off on enough troops under his command in Lantis’s battalion receiving EMDR and CBT to know that. But… Shep wasn’t one of Landry’s favourites, and he had his enemies.

“Hey!” She looked at him understandingly, “Kavanagh’s an ass.”

“Yeah I know.” John replied, feeling his lips quirk up a little. “I was stuck on base with him for a year once.”

“Ouch!” She shot him a look that seemed to be half worry, half pity, John _hated_ it, “There’s no shame in it you know.”

He rubbed at the hair on the back of his neck and refused to meet her gaze. After a beat she got started again,

“I hate earthquakes.” The non-sequitur got John looking directly at her, “You know, when I was growing up in San Francisco. There was an earthquake. I was trapped in my room with bare feet. There was all this broken glass. And I couldn’t, there was no other way out, I had to.”

Dr Lee made a wordless noise of compassion.

“There was blood everywhere. And even now I can’t bear it, them, tremors. I hate California now.” Lisa looked him straight in the eye, John felt frozen in place, “My point is. My point _is _it’s okay.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do Colonel.” Her voice was full of it, the _pity_. Lee chose that moment to walk over with a mug full of what turned out to be hot chocolate, it made Shep feel even more like an invalid. Lisa practically snatched her own mug from the friendly scientist,

“Thanks Bill!”

To John’s dismay Lee seemed to feel the need to butt in,

“Dr Park’s right you know.”

John tentatively sipping on the milky drink at that moment, made a questioning noise. More out of politeness than any real wish to continue the conversation. What he wanted most was some privacy so he could screw his head on straight in his own time.

Lam turned up and looked him over with a beady eye, though she seemed distracted by Dr Park’s presence, which John was grateful for. Between the lie Vala had told Lee, and Park’s obfuscations the base’s Head Doc left the office under the impression that John had had a bad reaction to her prescription. She ended up giving him a different bottle of pills and the order to, “Come to me if you begin to feel any side effects, dizziness, headache…” John had been worried he’d end up back in the infirmary, but she’d seemed to realise that he didn’t want to head down there, so she’d done the exam in the relative quiet of the lab before dashing off to check his blood work.

Awkwardly John gulped down his drink and made the appropriate noises at the right places in the conversation. John didn’t think he’d have been able to talk about this with his team, let alone an acquaintance and a practical stranger. Park kept shooting him considering looks. Lee looked worried. He hated every minute of it, felt stripped bare by their gazes. Though Sheppard had to admit, he did feel less like he was going to topple over any moment by the time he finished his mug.

Lee and Park bickered on as he sat there, the arguments clearly well-worn and fond. Though the conversation soon came back around to the current topic,

“You know it’d be easy to delete the footage if you’re that worried Colonel.” Park offered.

“What!” Bill exclaimed.

“Oh like _you’ve_ got a leg to stand on, we all know about your ‘_secret’ _workaround so you can play WoW in your lab.”

Dr Lee had the decency to look chagrined. John added his own two cents, knowing he should probably be more alarmed about the ease with which the scientists were discussing bypassing security protocols, yet finding himself unable to care,

“Dr Ingram already offered.”

“Oh good! I’ll check in with Ben then. He’s probably already dealt with it.”

Lisa bustled away, humming to herself. Lee watched her leave fondly.

“So, Colonel? Played any Call of Duty lately?”

***

John finally escaped Dr Lee’s well-meaning clutches. He dragged his sorry behind back to the storeroom that was his office, and sat heavily, ignoring the accursed mountain of paperwork. Deliberately, John locked the small vial of pills away in his desk, crammed next to _that_ folder, so he was unlikely to go casually looking for it. He was still feeling stiff, but Sheppard did not trust his mind to behave on drugs.

The phone rang. Two phone calls in one day, that was a turn up. John blinked disbelievingly at the voice on the other end of the line,

“John.”

“Dave? How’d you get this number?”

Dave was evasive, it felt weird being on this end of the equation,

“Hey John, you said you’d stop by if you had the time. It’s been nearly 18 months since we saw each other. I’d rather it didn’t turn into seven years again.”

John tried not to react to the accusatory tone, in this at least his elder brother was right. He had promised. It had been nine months since the last _phonecall_. Shit. This reconciliation crap was easier over email, couldn’t they stick with that? John had enjoyed bantering with his older brother about his nieces,

“Yeah. Sorry. Look about that, look we were facing a busy time of it on base for a while there, and I’ve been stuck in meetings since I got back to E- since I got stateside.”

“Hah! My little brother too busy with meetings to meet his family. Oh the irony.”

John made himself hear the joking tone of the jibe with an effort,

“Yeah, well. Need the brass to work out if I’ll still have a job to go back to once my base is off-stand down.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You know you’re always welcome to join the business.”

John forced himself not to snap at that. Dave wasn’t Dad. The offer was genuine. It wasn’t a threat to use his old Cold War buddies in the brass to screw John over. John _knew_ that. Seeming to sense the silence for a sore spot Dave quickly moved on,

“Anyway, Nancy dropped by just after you came for dad’s wake.”

John’s heart dropped. He could almost hear the condemnatory accusations again, had she told Dave about the favour?

“And well, she had a box load of your old stuff that you’d never picked up. I’ve been hanging onto it for you. And figured, if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, Mohammed’s got to…”

“Yeah yeah I hear you.”

“So where are you going to be in two weeks? Is it a good time?”

John blinked, Dave couldn’t mean what he thought he meant.

“Uh. What?!”

“Come on Johnny don’t be obtuse. Look, I’m going to be in Denver on business. Since it’s just around the corner from Peterson, well. As I said, if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed…”

“Dave…” John sighed, at once exasperated and touched. On the one hand he was kinda pissed about the imposition, and the assumption that John would be available. On the other? Well, coming all the way to Denver on some flimsy excuse. “I’ll see what I can do about getting some real leave.”

“Real leave?” The staticky burst of a sigh, “Oh don’t tell me you’re hurt again!”

“Dave! You know it’s my job.”

“I know. Sorry. Just. I don’t want to get that knock on the door little brother. And god knows you never took care of yourself, so I doubt you’re taking care of yourself now.”

“Dave…”

John settled into his chair and prepared for a long conversation. Even as he felt something in his chest loosen at the realisation that yeah, they could do this over phone too. Learn how to be brothers again. They didn’t need the separation of a screen to let them get the words out.

***

Despite his misgivings, meeting Doctor Rush to argue about math become something of a habit. Much as he hated to admit it, it had become the highlight of Sheppard’s days at the SGC. He’d finally gotten through the unwanted downtime and was no longer run ragged between training exercises and daily IOA meetings. For the time being his duties amounted to drastically shortened IOA meetings, and paperwork. A whole hell of a lot of paperwork. As well as the mandated overview of his every decision over the past five years, there were personnel reviews, requisitions paperwork, and miles of inventory reports. It was only his long daily sessions at the gym and firing range that were stopping him from doing something truly drastic, like taking over the SGC again just for the hell of it.

John was bored enough that these daily powwows were a bit of a balm; especially after the sheer embarrassment of his overreaction to Kavanagh’s bullshit when he’d made the mistake of taking Lam’s medication. Nothing seemed to have come from Kavanagh’s unpleasant little ‘joke’, Ingram and Vala must have kept their promise. Though part of Shep was waiting for the sword of Damocles to fall.

Mentally avoiding _that_ subject John got back to teasing Rush,

“Well, I dunno Doc, last time I made the mistake of letting a civilian doctor do my bloodwork they nearly quarantined me on account of all the weird proteins floating around in my blood.”

They were back in Dr Lee’s lab, but thankfully the crowds didn’t really gather anymore, at Dr Ingram’s instigation a ‘gawker free zone’ had been erected. Rush looked mildly concerned and asked,

“Not Goa’uld?”

John noticed that Rush’s pronunciation of Goa’uld was perfectly correct, if flavoured with his soft brogue. None of the exaggerated Gooold that most people at the SGC had taken to using. Not letting himself double-guess his answer John replied off-handedly,

“Oh nah – lots of deadly radiation, whatever’s left of Carson’s retrovirus, wraith enzyme stuff from when Todd gave me the ‘_Gift of Life’, _increased ATA gene expression due to interacting with Lantis daily all these years, uh… that weird happy juice we all had to drink as part of a trust ritual on that moon, uh M36-891… Well, you get the idea, life as a gate traveller in Pegasus, lots of little quirks.”

Rush looked suitably horrified. John snorted,

“I know right? If I lived in a comic, like the Fantastic Four, I’d have superpowers by now. Be Mr Fantastic. As it stands, I’ll probably get cancer”, John paused for effect, musing, “_and_ I’ve not had my little swimmers checked since before McMurdo.”

John was enjoying shooting the shit with Rush, since he’d gotten back to earth and been peremptorily separated from his team, he hadn’t been able to speak his mind with anyone for _ages_. Rush looked a strange mixture of pained and amused; Shep was alarmed to see some darker emotion in the doctor’s face. He wanted to ask, to reach out and offer comfort to the obvious devastation that shone back at him from uncanny dark eyes. But his usual fumbling ineptitude when presented with anything remotely emotional had him hesitating too long, and the moment passed. Rush swallowed, and bit out,

“Are you ever going to show me your progress on that small mathematics puzzle I gave you Colonel?”

“Wha-? Oh _that. _Sure.”

Sheppard pulled his notebook out of one of the oversized pockets in his BDU pants, predictably Rush snatched it from his hands as soon as it was within reach. The slight doctor was comfortingly like Rodney in that respect, though he did tend to at least _try_ and observe the social niceties, that McKay _still_ only intermittently observed, even with Doc Keller’s fondly exasperated influence.

Rush’s expression of discomfited pain gradually morphed into one of pure annoyance,

“Colonel, yer brain is _wasted_ in the armed forces.”

John tried to wave him off,

“Yeah yeah.”

“I mean it. Your solution to this one,” Rush tapped emphatically at a puzzle that had allowed Sheppard to spend an enjoyable half hour ignoring the IOA meeting twittering around him, “is pure dead _brilliant_.”

John ducked his head and tried to ignore the warm feeling bubbling up in his chest, he _wasn’t_ going to get himself inappropriately attached to another scientist seconded to the SGC, he _wasn’t_. This was all churning around, uncomfortably like those early days on the expedition, when his life had been shot through with surprisingly warm companionship alongside the pressing matter of winning over a hostile company of marines, and deathly terror. Just, minus the terror. Mostly. Well, okay, John was willing to admit to himself that he was waiting for the inevitable SNAFU to rear its head. The lessons learned in Pegasus were difficult to ignore.

“Uh thanks.”

Nice. ‘Thanks’ Eloquent, Sheppard.

“You should come down to the labs some time and meet Mandy properly.”

“Mandy?”

Sheppard ruthlessly quashed a flash of hot jealousy. He’d only known the other man a couple of weeks, didn’t have any right.

“Doctor Amanda Perry. Little Miss Brilliant. She was there when Dr Jackson blocked the corridor with all those boxes? She’ll like you.” Rush must have spotted something on his face, since his next words were, “Oh don’t worry Colonel. Unlike me she won’t harp on too loudly on that ignorant soldier routine you insist on sticking to.” After a beat Rush added, “It doesn’t work you know.”

“Huh?”

Oblivious to the alarm bells ringing in John’s head, Rush blithely continued,

“Your marines all think you walk on water. And your scientists? Well Colonel, even the speed of light doesn’t outpace the speed of gossip. You’ve clearly been in the military too long, if you expect academics to keep their mouths shut.”

John managed to get out, around a throat that felt like it was closing,

“Who?”

Rush looked at him quellingly,

“Well, even if you hadn’t dazzled us all with your knowledge of Elliptic curves, Dr Lee has always been extremely complimentary about your abilities, for all that the man is severely lacking in common sense, he _is _fair fucking brilliant at what he does.”

“Crap.”

“He told Dr Novak immediately when you insisted that he take all the credit for those trajectory calculations for the decaying orbit of that… What did Dr Lee call it? Human-form… Replicator? You were forced to burn up.”

“_Crap_.”

The word barely encompassed the depths of Sheppard’s horror.

“Don’t worry about it Colonel, from what I hear on base, your superiors are all wilfully oblivious to your talents. And as we witnessed earlier, the likes of Doctor Kavanagh will never believe it, even when it’s right in front of their noses.”

Rush’s blasé attitude to the whole situation calmed John somewhat. If it had been Rodney… there’d have been a whole hell of a lot more accusatory shouting, and belittling going on. Still, John felt discomfited by the compliments, even backhanded as they were. The newfound knowledge that his ability to whizz through most math problems put to him was somewhat of an open secret was just another source of prickling unease to contend with. All his life being that little bit smarter than most people _hadn’t_ been a good thing. He squirmed in his seat, not meeting Rush’s gaze. Just when he’d begun to enjoy these occasional meetups too, when he’d thought they made a nice break from the backstabbing and making nice with snake-like (hopefully not literal snakes, but you could never tell with some of these agencies) IOA officials who were still trying their hardest to get Atlantis broken down for parts.

Rush must have noticed Sheppard’s internal struggle, the next thing he knew the doc was handing back his notepad,

“Honestly Colonel, it’s only people who like you who know about this. Though I genuinely don’t understand why you’d want to hide your light under a bushel. It’s a useful skill. It’s stupidly wasteful of you to refuse to use it.”

** **

***

Rush was fair fucking certain that Colonel fucking Sheppard had just bloody handed him the key to solving one of the nine-chevron problems. The knowledge burned like hell, cos the idiotic overgrown man-child did everything he could to hide his ability.

On the one hand Nick was pleased, he had a to do list longer than a fucking Leonard Cohen song, and Colonel Sheppard had shortened it considerably. On the other, what in bloody hell was he gonna do about Sheppard? The Colonel was _wasting_ that brain of his. Nick hadn’t told him, but the ‘problem’ he’d given the colonel to solve was one of the many opening forays people had tried over the years to work out the Riemann Hypothesis. Oh, Sheppard hadn’t _solved_ the millennium problem, or anything so Hollywood as all that, but he had proven that he could get into the meat of the hypothesis in a manner few people could, and with a disturbing level of ease.

Now, Nick was well used to dealing with recalcitrant students, for his sins. Despite his reputation at Berkeley as ‘Professor Most Likely to Cause a Student to Suffer a Mental Breakdown’ a badge he’d worn with ill-grace, even though Gloria had found the ‘award’ hilarious, or perhaps _because_ his darling wife had found it so funny. (He’d ended up putting the thing on the bookshelf in his office, the students had tended to stare at it in horror.)

It wasn’t Rush’s fault; he’d spent his first stint teaching undergraduates at Cambridge whilst studying there as a PhD student. His fellow undergrads at Oxford had been similar. Somehow Oxbridge types knew to take their Professors’ and teachers’ opinions with the pinch of salt that they deserved. The cultural difference between universities in the UK and the US had been one he’d never quite managed to navigate. Then again, the culture shock between the underbelly of working-class Glasgow, and the fucking dreaming spires of Oxford had been much more profound. Though perhaps _that_ was the issue. The differences were slight enough that he usually overlooked them until someone practically shoved them in his face.

“Knock knock!” A cheery voice sounded from the doorway, Rush looked up it was Vala Mal Doran again,

“Dr Rush, what do you know about C4?”

Nick fell back on another nugget of wisdom from Malcolm Tucker,

“Give me a second while I look up my little file of things I really don’t give a fuck about.”

Instead of leaving as he dearly wanted her to, Ms Mal Doran beamed at him and stepped into the room.

“Now lovely, we can’t exactly plan a suitable sort of revenge on S.O.’s behalf without any actual… planning.”

“S.O.?”

“John? Your new favourite Colonel? Kavanagh played that terribly meanspirited joke, and I had to sic Doctors Lee and Park on him to get him back in the present?”

“Yes yes, but S.O.?”

“Now, that would be telling.”

Rush glared at the infuriating woman, but it only seemed to make her smile widen. Fuck. Vala smiled happily, but there was a certain tightness in her actions that had Nick’s internal alarms ringing. Part of the reason the woman made him nervous was the obvious layer of armour between her and the world. It mirrored his own coping methods of old. Before Gloria had come into his life. Right now, he could see that something was making her fair fucking tense, more so than usual. Nick decided to cut to the chase,

“What’s wrong Miss Mal Doran?”

“I _told_ you. Kavanagh.”Vala smiled bitterly, “It’s been long enough now that no one will suspect retaliation.”

She had a point, that sort of behaviour should not be allowed to stand.

It was one thing to take the military down a peg or two because they were being overbearing authoritarian examples of everything that was wrong with the American Military Industrial Complex. (Rush had decided opinions about such things.) It was quite another to try to hurt someone because you were feeling insecure about your own intelligence, and thus wanted to make them doubt their own.

Rush suspected, no, _knew _that Kavanagh had been acting on the latter. Even if the fool had been acting on the former, he’d have been inclined to do something about it. Sheppard was no wilting flower, but deliberately forcing your way into someone’s darkest nightmares over something so fucking _petty_ was absolutely fucking contemptible in Rush’s book. Especially when it was so painfully _obvious_ that Sheppard really was frightened of showing off that intelligence of his.

Perhaps it was the rusty ill-used teacher’s instincts rearing their head. Oh, none of the students he’d interacted with had ever been children. They’d all been adults, grown and determined to prove it by the time they came to the likes of Berkeley. But most had still trailed that naïve innocence of youth. Inspired protective instincts. Rush snorted at himself, yeah right ye wee gobshite, as if ye can do anything to protect someone like the Colonel. Even _he’d_ heard about the Training Incident.

Eventually.

From Mandy.

Who’d told him in pure fucking exasperation when he’d, as she’d put it, ‘waxed lyrical once too often about non-existent innocence’. She’d probably have understood if she’d seen that look of disbelief on the man’s face. He’d _expected_ ridicule and scorn, when all Rush had wanted to do was gleefully exclaim over the man’s utterly unique way of coming to his conclusions, he’d worked his way through the mathematics using some _truly_ novel methods. Rush felt the dire urge to fucking _castrate_ whoever had told the colonel his mind was worthless. Nick also had a terrible sinking feeling the person in question was the self-same owner of aforementioned mind.

“Lovely.”

Vala’s low tones interrupted Rush’s wool-gathering,

“Yes yes, unfortunately people with Kavanagh’s attitude are ubiquitous across all walks of life.”

“That doesn’t mean the mendacious little sneak should get away with it! Honestly you Tau’ri.”

Rush’s response was equally snappish,

“I wasnae saying that was I? Side’s us polyglottal members of the SGC need tae stick together.”

Vala was looking at him with quizzical annoyance,

“Multilingual? I assume ye don’ entirely rely on the gate’s translation circuits like the rest of the lazy halfwits around here?”

“You assumed correctly. What languages do you speak? I doubt Goa’uld, Hebridan and the unnamed language of the Land with the Kassa interest you very much.”

Even as he realised, he had no fucking _clue_ how the damned conversation had meandered this way, Rush continued,

“French, Scots Gaelic, Italian.” Rush spotted her confusion and powered through the burst of grief that came with the explanation “My wife, Gloria, was a professional musician. The languages were _useful_.”

“Oh Lovely, I’m so sorry.”

Rush looked down at his notes and swore, redirecting from the reflexive word at the very last moment,

“Oh, f- donkey balls...”

“What?!”

Rush glared in disbelief at the instant messenger that had popped up on screen,

“Aright – Mandy says that Lisa says that Lee can get us intae the hazardous chemicals store cupboard with nae one gettin suspicious.”

“Excellent!”

*******

The plan was elegant in its simplicity.

Vala painted the first of the chemical washes over the lab benches the day before, in the guise of annoying everyone with a new scent that she’d supposedly become enamoured with. Her acting had been exemplary if she did say so herself. She’d had two identical bottles, one genuinely containing a pleasant-smelling scent the Tau’ri called Giorgio Armani Pour Homme. (Dr Felger had hesitantly pointed out that it was supposed to be for _men_ as he’d embarrassedly whispered at her, but Vala only tutted about Tau’ri sensibilities being ridiculous.)

The other bottle contained the first of the two chemical compounds that she, and Doctors Lee, Ingram, Park, and Gorgeous Rush had concocted on the sly. It was half white phosphorus, a volatile chemical easily available on earth, half an organic compound that Dr Lee had inadvertently manufactured large quantities of several months back when Dr Parrish had brought over the latest of the medicinal botanical samples from Atlantis. 

Vala’s job was to pre-spray the area with the complex organic alkaloid, which was there to render the phosphorous less… _obviously_ explosive. Her half of the job went perfectly, as an added bonus she’d even managed to spray a full burst of Giorgio Armani Por Homme straight up Peter Kavanagh’s nose. According to Lisa, he’d had a runny nose for the rest of the day and wouldn’t stop sneezing.

It was Rush’s job to add the second half of the chemical mixture today. For all that he kept exclaiming that he was a mathematician not a chemist, the little Tau’ri scientist certainly knew his way around explosives. Vala couldn’t help but wonder where he’d picked up the knowledge, but… She had learnt a few of the more obvious pieces of social etiquette on earth in the past few years. Vala also figured that asking pointed questions about someone’s past when the relationship was at such an early stage probably wasn’t the best way to continue the relationship.

Anyway. Revenge. Giorgio Armani. White phosphorous.

Vala couldn’t resist hanging around to watch. Appropriately enough the perfect spot to watch the chaos was the little coffee cubby that had been the site of the first act of aggression in this little psychological war.

Rush came out of Kavanagh’s lab empty handed. Unfortunately, Kavanagh came up to the coffee spot at just that moment,

“Hey. What’s going on? That’s my private workstation!”

Behind him Vala could see Dr Lee desperately signalling to abort the mission, but it was too late. Kavanagh was making such a racket that the SFs that manned every level had noticed.

Vala backed into the lab,

“Why I’ve absolutely no idea?”

Rush, looking remarkably innocent said quite convincingly, “I was just looking for a pen. I’m sure I lost it somewhere on this level.”

There was a loud crashing groaning noise.

Behind them half of Kavanagh’s lab space collapsed in a smouldering heap.

SFs swarmed into the trashed lab; guns already raised.

Rush turned to her, and inexplicably grinned,

“Hey. For a moment there, I thought we were in trouble.”

** **

***

Dixon didn’t like the implication that Sheppard was goin to get rewarded for the absolute shitstorm he’d caused the other day. Oh, he was man enough to admit that the seethin ball of envy in his gut weren’t entirely rational - for all his ego wanted a similarly important command role, the rest of him gibbered that with four kids and a wife at home, perhaps it was for the best that his entire wakin life weren’t taken up with runnin a garrison and a city.

Still, needs must. Dave put on his best suckin up to the brass smile, and knocked on Landry’s office door,

“Colonel Dixon! Come in, what can I do for you this afternoon?”

Dixon put on his patented aw shucks expression,

“Well, sir. You see… Vala and Dr Rush have been making a bit of a nuisance of themselves lately and I was wonderin’ if perhaps you could see your way to keeping them out of trouble?”

Dixon tried to look innocent, Landry’s round wrinkled face crinkled up in thought,

“Yes, you aren’t the only one to come to me and express that opinion. Dr Kavanagh was especially incensed the other day. While we all know what he’s like he did seem particularly upset.”

Dixon wondered if the cranky general really hadn’t heard the scuttlebutt about Kavanagh’s lab, or if he knew and didn’ give a damn. He realised he needed to add additional incentive, two birds one boulder an’ all that,

“And well sir... Sheppard looks like he’s gonna snap any minute, he looks like he’s gun’ stir crazy if you ask me.”

At this Landry began to look alarmed. His amicably smiling face went slightly pale,

“Yes, well, none of us want him to have a reason to try anything.”

Dixon pretended to look thoughtful,

“Yunno what sir? It must be comin’ up on time for the Colonel’s flight recerts…”

He let it tail off, Landry pounced on the suggestion as if it were a lifeline,

“Excellent idea Colonel! Sheppard has been looking somewhat stir crazy of late after Carolyn insisted on extra measures with those stitches...”

“I weren’t gonna say it sir.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you for bringing this to my attention Colonel.”

Landry waved him out of his office. Dixon smiled grimly to himself.

** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr Rush begins to get a little more ‘screen time’ as it were here… And, well given he’s known to be Glaswegian, and had a pretty rough childhood… Well… I’ve thoroughly bought into the SGU fandom idea that he uses swearwords like punctuation a la Francis Begbie/Malcolm Tucker/the sheer glory that is Chrisjen Avasarala (all hail the Madam Secretary of the UN). He tries not to use it in daily speech, given he made it into academia/the Stargate Programme with all those Americans/other international personnel who’d take those sentiments very differently than the people that know the c-word is a term of endearment, and pal means he’s your worst enemy… But beware, the swearing takes a significant uptick whenever he’s around!
> 
> Thus far I’ve managed to stick almost entirely with using Stargate characters (the franchise having a veritable cast of thousands helps), but in a couple of spots minor background OCs were necessary (there aren’t all that many civilians in the show who aren’t involved with the SGC programme in some manner lol.) Dr Ingram? Isn’t technically an OC. For those who don’t know, Dr Benjamin Ingram was the intended lead scientist in SGA. But they just couldn’t get it to work for whatever reason. (I have my suspicions, but this isn’t the place for it.) Anyhow, I decided to make the guy a Londoner and when that happened ended up picturing him having Richard Ayoade’s general unimpressed attitude towards life (anyone else been enjoying his Travel Man series?) but with Nathan Stewart-Jarrett’s appearance/accent/body-language.
> 
> Ahaha the sheer amount of weird stuff in my search history due to research for this fic... One of the least odd things? Dug up some of Dylan Neal's other work (Blood Ties) to get more of a feel for the guy's body language, yunno what? That's some _excellent_ casting work - the guy's posture is uncannily like Flanigan's when he's playing Sheppard at times.
> 
> I do wonder if anyone's spotted the Expanse easter eggs that have been snuck into every chapter so far. (Yeah that's also a hint, depending on the timing of me editing the next chapter into shape, chapter 5 might be posted a wee bit more slowly than the previous gaps between uploads have been.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Dave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slight delay with this chapter! Between the time of year, and the fact that S4 of the Expanse happened... Well... I had a lot less free time to edit this chapter into shape for a while there!
> 
> As always this thing is unbetaed so if you spot any particularly embarrassing errors please feel free to point them out! (I tend to read the sentence I _meant_ to write rather than the one actually on the page sometimes...)

** Chapter 5: **

“Sheppard!”

The gratingly false jocular tone was new. Smoothing out his expression from the grimace it had fallen into, Sheppard smartly turned, straightened to attention, and asked,

“Sir?”

“How’d you like to do your flight recertifications this week?”

John blinked nonplussed. Crap, what was he underqualified in _now_? He’d do the training. But the way Landry was perpetually trying to poke at his perceived weaknesses was beginning to grate. He searched Landry’s face, trying to get a hint of the usual dislike and contempt that flavoured all their interactions, but none of the old enmity was present. Just the same friendly, vaguely fatherly, ‘_I’m making an effort here_’ expression that the older man had put on every time they’d been in the same room together since the ‘foothold’ incident.

“Uh? Sir?”

“This is where you say, yessir, thank you sir! Sheppard. And for god’s sake son, at ease.”

“Uh – yessir, thank you sir?”

John hadn’t meant for that puzzled questioning tone to seep into his voice, but… Well, where Landry was concerned, he’d given up on trying to put up his usual defences’ years ago.

Landry sighed, “Sheppard, son. I know we’ve not always seen eye to eye.”

John bit back on the urge to reply with a very McKay-esque sarcastic, ‘Really whatever gave you that impression?’, by pure dint of metaphorically lying back and thinking of Atlantis. To his disbelief Landry looked almost… Guilty? No surely not. It couldn’t be.

The man had always made it very clear that Sheppard wasn’t his first, or even fifth choice to head up the military contingent of the expedition. Hell, Sheppard had always suspected that if it hadn’t been for Elizabeth’s (he hastily shoved down the wave of pure _grief _that always rose up when he let himself think of her these days) backing he’d have been out of the whole programme, possibly the whole _service_ if Landry had his way. And hadn’t that chafed? The knowledge that he hadn’t earnt that promotion after all. That as far as the Air Force was concerned, he was still persona non grata, fit only to run the shittiest jobs the service could offer to a qualified field grade officer.

Refocusing on the conversation with an effort, _dammit pay attention John._ This man was technically his commanding officer right now, and had the right to make Shep’s life hell, he was surprised again by the expression of what, it couldn’t be, contrition?

“You know son, you’ve got a lot of backers at the SGC.”

“Sir?”

John didn’t have a clue where Landry was going with this,

“Jack likes you; god alone knows why. He’s worth a whole department by himself. Hell, he _is_ Homeworld Security, that means something. He’s _always_ had your corner. I should have made a note of that.”

“Sir.”

“I always make it a point to listen to Jack’s advice, son. He let me borrow his cabin often enough, that I owe the man _that_ much.”

“Sir?”

Shep felt that sir was the only thing he could say there, sir was such a _useful _response, it could mean anything from ‘Yes sir! How high sir?’ to ‘You’re a terrible excuse for a human being who’s not fit to lick horse crap from my lowliest marine’s boots’. Sheppard wasn’t entirely sure which end of the spectrum his response fell on; he was feeling too backfooted.

“Did you know Colonel Carter has nominated you for a promotion, Colonel?”

The world tilted on its axis,

“Uh – sir?”

“Yes Colonel, you’re still below grade. But well, she’d been your ranking officer for a year, and she always maintained your help was instrumental in the strategies she used to successfully eliminate the threat of the Replicators, and Michael that year. Then of course, there was that Wraith hive ship you saved us all from.”

“Yessir.”

Landry sighed, he rubbed at his face vigorously with one hand, looking old and tired. John knew how he felt, though he still couldn’t parse where this conversation was going.

“Son. I let other people’s opinions colour every interaction we’ve had. As your some-time commanding officer, for that I’m sorry.”

“Sir?”

Sheppard could hear the bewilderment in his own voice, but hell, he really didn’t have a clue what was going on in this conversation. The route it was taking was so far removed from what he was used to, what he’d been expecting, that he was stuck scrabbling around for context in the dark.

“General O’Neill pointed out to me in no uncertain terms that I haven’t been fair to you Colonel. Hell, _Mitchell, _put in a word or two. And that boy can be so scared of his own shadow around his superior officers that I sometimes fear for his health.”

Landry chuckled dryly. John just stared completely unable to parse this shift into… _Friendly?_ relations. What the hell was going on? Landry’s expression went pained,

“Look son, just go, do your recertifications with Mitchell, and please god get Vala _off my base_ for a few days. She’s bored, and a bored Vala… Well, consider it a personal favour to me. I’ll owe you one.”

Landry’s voice went all wheedling, it was _bizarre_,

“Might even be able to pull a few strings with the IOA. And, if you happen to run across any instructors with spare time on their hands, well, I wouldn’t be too upset if you came back well on your way to having more qualifications than you left with. I’ve never taken the time to tell you this Sheppard, but you’re one of the best pilots we’ve got in the SGC, and we’d like to keep you. If that means giving you free reign to let off some steam whilst your base is grounded? So be it.”

Landry looked at him expectantly, John hastily got out,

“Uh, thank you sir?”

Great… ‘_thank you_ sir’…Great job there John, first attempt the guy makes to not be an ass and you…

“When you get back, we may see our way to getting you a temporary gate team if you want son. We’ll also talk about all that leave you’ve accrued,” Landry glared down at the paperwork he was clutching, for once the scowl wasn’t aimed John’s way, “there’s a truly obscene amount backdated here. Forget not taking leave since you joined the programme, it says here that you’ve not taken regular time off since you made _Captain_. For heaven’s sake son, I know you’re worried about getting time off to meet your brother. Consider that as read.”

Landry looked up at John, eyebrows still raised in disbelief, it was true, John hadn’t regularly claimed any of his leave since the divorce,

“Now, is there anything you’d like to ask me before you go and pack for a week off world?”

John gazed sceptically at the round open face in front of him. A face he’d always, not so secretly, instinctually distrusted.

“Uh nossir.”

“Good. Very well Colonel.”

John was too stunned to respond. Landry’s expression shifted back into the more familiar scowl of exasperation that Sheppard was used to,

“Stop standing around Colonel! Go! Scram! You’re dismissed!”

“Yessir!”

John double-timed his way out of there, not daring to question his luck. He’d been so sure that dressing down that had been overdue, that Damocles-like other boot that had been waiting to drop… Well. Blowing out a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding, Shep felt the tension ease its way out of the knots in his spine. He’d felt as if he’d been riding Rocinante and tilting at windmills for so damned long now, and Landry had just turned around and tacitly stated he had his back. What the hell?

John had been a few beds over when O’Neill had gotten all serious on the other general, but he hadn’t expected anything like _this_ to come of it. He’d thought the reluctant clearing for gate travel had been the extent of it. Still in a mild daze, he wandered off to try and find Cam and Vala. John got the distinct impression that the conversation had been Landry trying to be… _nice_. Which was a terrifying thought, on a par with the predicted explosion if Rodney ever found out that those BBQ ribs he enjoyed so much were absolutely _slathered_ in lemon marinade. (John had checked in with Carson about just what McKay was and wasn’t allergic to back in the First Year, he’d been shocked by how blasé the physician was about the whole thing until the list had emerged. The list had amounted to a mild case of lime and ash tree hay fever, and a severe, but not anaphylactic, reaction to fire ant bites. Which, given that as a child Rodney had apparently earnt the wrath of a whole nest, it was unclear whether he was allergic, or had just gotten bitten a whole hell of a lot. The one time the EpiPen thing had come up, it had been _Ronon_ of all people who’d gone through the whole terrifying blood pressure going loopy, throat swelling thing. John had been grateful he’d insisted on learning the procedure that day.)

Sheppard made his way to the daily IOA meeting with a new spring in his step, he felt he could face almost anything Strom would throw at him now.

***

As she typed up the minutes from the most recent IOA meeting about Atlantis, Camile let her mind wander. This job was well below her paygrade, but Strom insisted he wanted her for the relatively lowly position. Camile couldn’t quite fathom how the IOA - an organisation she believed was desperately needed to prevent the US military from gaining a monopoly on space travel, advanced technology, and medicine vital to the planet, could be so concerned with such petty ideas as rampant nationalism and… well, bigotry. They knew what was out there, what Earth was facing, yet they were content to squabble amongst themselves as though there were no more pressing matters to contend with.

Her frustration with the tedious pace of the negotiations surrounding Atlantis was shared by Mr Woolsey and the colonel, Sheppard, who up until recently had overseen the Ancient city. The whole stinking debate boiled down to numerous nations disagreeing not only about the city’s ultimate fate – stay here on earth or return to the galaxy it usually resided in – and the more immediate conflict about whether it’s current location on Earth was fair. Madam Shen and the French representative both vehemently agreed that Atlantis remaining within US territorial waters was a violation of the IOA-NATO charters that governed the allocation of resources amongst the space-faring nations.

However, no one could come to an accord about where the city _should_ end up instead.

Camile was honestly surprised that Russia wasn’t raising a bigger stink, given that their BC-304 the _Korolev_ had been destroyed on her maiden flight, and hadn’t yet been replaced. The next Russian 304 was scheduled to be the subsequent one off the production line, after the currently half-built _Phoenix _finally reached completion. China’s position she understood, the _Sun-Tzu_ was still undergoing major repairs after facing the Hive Ship; it had taken more damage than the _Apollo._

Thinking of the 304s brought Camile back to the other point of contention in the ongoing negotiations, if they could honestly be called that when they amounted to all the interested parties shouting at each other; the fate of Atlantis’s ZPMs. The last time the great city ship had a full complement of ZPMs it had immediately been stripped of them; one went to the Odyssey to help with the fight against the Ori, another to power the weapons platform in Antarctica.

Now the IOA were squabbling over which country should receive the new ‘spares.’ They were acting as if it was a given that the city would immediately lose its main power source. Some quick words on the part of Sheppard (Camile had honestly been surprised that the military man had been the one to divert attention) had delayed the decision for the time being. Though that debate was starting up again, the disgustingly patronising Mr Coolidge had been the one to broach the topic this time.

The other debate, about precisely _where_ in international territory Atlantis should temporarily be moved to, until a more permanent decision could be made, was a fierce one. There had even been some talk, quickly shot down by Sheppard, about using the city as a trial run for the SGC’s planned moon base. Sheppard had hastened to point out that constantly running the shields, working out a reliable air supply, _and_ shuttling personnel to and from Earth’s natural satellite would likely severely deplete the ZPMs that the IOA were squabbling over, _and_ be a major resource drain to the IOA.

Allowing the city to drift on the ocean’s currents into International waters had also been proposed, though Dr McKay, in conference call, had shot down the suggestion when he’d pointed out that it would land the city smack bang in the centre of one of the Great Garbage Patches of the world’s oceans, and likely poison everyone who had to remain onboard. Antarctica had been mooted too, though no one was taking that proposal seriously, given that the apparent docking station was both buried under a mile of ice, and missing a key component given the calamity that was the chair being buried under the rubble of Area 51.

That was all ignoring the broader, and more personal debate about whether to allow the city to continue with two American heads; Mr Woolsey on the civilian side, and Colonel Sheppard on the military. Camile understood that complaint, US military dominance of Earth notwithstanding, the IOA were wary of relying solely on the US for access to space.

She had previously believed Colonel Sheppard was the more likely to lose his position, but generals O’Neill and to her surprise, Landry, had both gone out to bat for the man. In no uncertain terms O’Neill had pointed out just how many times Sheppard had personally saved both Atlantis and Earth, insinuating that they still needed him. Instead it was beginning to look as if their man on the inside, Woolsey, would be the one to suffer for the new political appetite to prevent unilateral American control of the Stargate programme. 

On some levels, beyond the seething resentment that with her qualifications Camile was acting as a glorified _clerk_, as the assigned neutral notary sitting in on these interminable discussions, Camile was utterly _relieved_ that she wasn’t one of the people charged with sorting out the huge tangled gordian knot that was the Atlantis situation.

Yes, the meetings had thrown the dark underbelly of the IOA in Camile’s face. The likes of Coolidge and Shen Xiaoyi could waste most of a meeting dredging up jingoistic concerns. They kept trying to put their nations ahead of the game, when it was obvious by now that the best course of action was truly international cooperation. There’d been chatter for years of expanding the IOA remit to include the greater UN council of nations. Atlantis already had international personnel from nations outside the core IOA countries that funded the SGC programme. Then there was the new head of the organisation, Carl Strom. Strom would never quite look at her when she was in the same room as him. She knew it _wasn’t_ a coincidence that she’d been held back in her career ever since the man, who was known to have extremely conservative values with respect to both women’s _and_ gay rights, had gained a position of authority at the IOA.

Her relief about her lack of responsibility for making sure that these discussions were productive aside, Camile _hated_ that she was stuck taking minutes at these things. The hours were antisocial at best, nastily irregular at worst, and typing up her shorthand notes frequently ate into her time at home with Sharon. To make matters worse, one of the few voices of reason at the nightly lessons in backstabbing, Colonel Sheppard, was due a few weeks away from the negotiating table, putting the whole charade at a distinct risk of stalling entirely.

Camile hoped that the lack of Atlantis personnel would mean she could get back to her usual duties, but the cynical voice of experience warned that it was unlikely to be the case. She suspected that the IOA would use the time to ‘agree’ on all sorts of terms that the Atlantis Expedition members, and the SGC would never actually comply with. She eyed up the Atlantis colonel’s contribution to the meeting as she finished typing up her shorthand, yeah the next few weeks were going to be even more interminable than usual. Sharon had better have bought a whole case of wine like she’d promised. God knew she hadn’t gotten around to getting rid of the ugly chair, and that’d been on the list for _months_.

Camile rubbed at tired eyes and decided to look up the file of the guy who’d step into Sheppard’s position, the governor of California, Senator Armstrong. She hoped he’d balance out the worst of Strom’s excesses. As a politician Camile anticipated that the IOA would actually treat him as an equal and listen when he talked.

***

Mandy was mocking him again, he could tell.

Oh, she wasn’t saying anything, it was all in the expression on her face, and the fact that she hadn’t added any new lines to the page of hyperspace drive schematics that she was working on for over half an hour.

Rush resisted the urge to glare.

The sixth chevron was locked behind a cypher that was encoded within the DHD crystals that transmitted the gates’ relative positions within the greater network to each other. Rush hadn’t been entirely sure if the part of the mechanism they needed was contained within the gates themselves, or the DHD devices – which is where Sheppard’s suggestion about using a nifty little bit of maths related to the curve of the elliptic came in. If Sheppard had the way of it, and Rush suspected that the self-doubting little fucker did, then it wouldn’t _matter_ which half of the pair the cypher was contained in; a tangential approach would work.

The only remaining problem was the fact that there was a distinct fucking possibility that acquiring the information would damage the gate they chose. Mandy had been the one to point that out, the system wasn’t designed to cope with the sort of data flow that the cypher would obviously generate. Rush could well end up doing a fucking Felger; accidentally crippling the entire gate network as what he did to one device spread to the others on the network. If he did, he’d never live it down. The likes of Kavanagh, looking out for any excuse to take the infamous Field’s Medallist down a rung or two, would all come crawling out of the woodwork.

That’s where Sheppard’s suggestion came in again, theoretically doing it his way wouldn’t actually _do_ anything to the gates. It was the mathematical equivalent of knocking politely on the neighbour’s door and asking to borrow the sugar. Only the sugar was an encrypted fucking chevron in the near fucking mythical 9-chevron address.

He was due to present his proposal to Landry that afternoon, Mandy was _supposed_ to be helping him run through his presentation, but mostly she was mocking his new ‘infatuation’ with his replacement ‘BFF’. For fuck’s sake! Nick caught himself glaring at her again, but she was merely shooting him knowing looks in response. Little Miss Brilliant or not the woman could be fucking infuriating when she wanted to be. It didn’t help that Mary kept appearing, ostensibly to check in on them. She gave Rush her _own_ knowing looks every time she stuck her head around the door. At this rate all he’d have to present to the general was a diatribe about the perfidy of women. Rush liked to hope he was a more rational human being than that, but… Gloria had always subtly undercut his temper with her quiet humour whenever he’d been building himself up to one of his ‘rants’ as she’d termed them.

The sixth chevron was tantalisingly within his reach, Nick could almost _taste_ it. It would provide a welcome distraction from the complexities of the fifth, with its ominous tonal elements that Rush was refusing to acknowledge. Well, no, after learning about what Dr Jackson had managed on that misadventure with Vala, involving Ba’al, clones of SGC personnel, a shooting, the Asgard, and an attempt by a _parallel fucking_ _universe_ to invade this one and collapse history using the gate network itself as a transmitter… He’d neatly wrapped the whole excruciating fucking problem up with a neat little bow and sent it on its merry way to the archaeologist cum anthropologist cum_ virtuoso fucking musician_ if the story was to be believed.

Rush hoped Jackson’s ability with all things even vaguely Indiana Jones related extended to this sphere too, he’d already done the difficult bit for the other man, translated the complex mathematics into something a layperson could read.

Rush was just about to wrap the whole sorry session up, and get himself a cup of caffeinated ambrosia, when Sheppard stuck his spiky head around the door. He had to give the man kudos for that at least, all the other little soldiers around here looked like identikit clones, Nick knew Sheppard at a glance.

“Hey Doc.”

“Colonel Sheppard.”

Behind him Mandy gave the colonel a _revoltingly_ affectionate smile,

“John!”

Rush resisted the urge to glare daggers at Mandy. She smirked at him. Traitor.

The colonel looked unaccountably nervous, he was chewing on his lower lip, even as he shot them both a crooked grin.

“Hey Dr Perry.”

Rush shot a quizzical look the colonel’s way, but the infuriating man was busy staring in apparent fascination at his shoes,

“I was wondering if you’d do me a favour doc?”

Rush shared an exasperated look with Mandy, even as he tried to chivvy the conversation along,

“What do ye want Colonel?” He softened his words by adding, “I do owe you a favour anyway Colonel, please ask, worse that can happen is I’ll say no.”

Sheppard licked his lips and eyed Mandy, before seeming to come to a decision. The colonel straightened up and flatly asked,

“Would you mind coming with when I meet my brother?”

Rush blinked,

“What?”

There was more neck rubbing. Rush turned his lost gaze on Dr Perry, she was furiously mouthing ‘say yes!’ at him.

“Yes?”

“Great. Thanks doc.”

From the look on Mandy’s face Rush wasn’t imagining the pure relief in Colonel Sheppard’s voice. Dammit, he was not here to play mentor and confidant to maladjusted members of the military! Dr Perry was scowling at him, her eyebrows waggling in a ridiculous fashion that was no doubt intended to send some sort of message. Rush raised a questioning eyebrow of his own in response. Fortunately, either Sheppard genuinely was that oblivious, or he was willing to pretend to be. Whilst Rush and Mandy had been utterly failing to hold a nonverbal conversation, the colonel had picked up Rush’s nascent presentation about gating to P9X-837 and was flipping through it with apparent fascination,

“So… uh… How’s the math going? You any closer to cracking that encryption?”

“Ah yes Colonel that’s exactly what that’s about, you see we’re gonna need access to a working DHD, and for that…”

“You need to gate off world.” Sheppard shared a look with Mandy, “I’m guessing this is you trying to persuade Landry to let you go?”

“Yes Colonel, as you so asininely put it – that’s the draft of the presentation I intend to give him about the necessity of-“

“Want help doc? I can see at least five instances on just the first page that’ll need reworking if you want to sell it to the brass.”

“Please.”

From the eyebrows Rush’s hastily rewritten presentation garnered, Landry did indeed spot Sheppard’s contribution. Though Nick sincerely fucking doubted that the general knew who’d helped rephrase everything in such a manner that even the idiotic members of the military would be hard-pressed to disagree with.

***

John stepped up to the SGC gate, ready to face yet another round of training. The whole process was an exercise in patience, for a start Milky Way gates were _already_ orders of magnitude slower to dial than Pegasus gates. The SGC gate was absolutely _glacial_ compared to them. If it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t want to show up Atlantis in front of both Landry, and half of the premier gate team SG-1, John would have been fidgeting and antsy as they endured the dialling process.

You know what?

Rodney was right. They really _did_ need to let someone other than Carter rework the SGC’s dialling programme (she was just too busy to devote any time to it), or failing that, acquire their own DHD. It was _nuts_ that Atlantis’s gate was disabled in favour of this dinosaur of a system.

Mitchell didn’t seem to see anything wrong with the snail’s pace the SGC gate was taking, but Vala was shifting from foot to foot as John kinda wanted to.

_Finally,_ the wormhole connected, and they stepped through.

A strangely familiar face was there to greet them on the other side,

“Hi there!”

It was Alec Colson, ex-aeronautics and technology mogul, lately under the employ of the SGC. He was a cheerful seeming kinda guy. John immediately distrusted him. Though he knew it was his own prejudices talking, not anything the guy had done. Sheppard automatically distrusted _anyone_ who came from the same sorta circles his father had run in, it was instinct at this point.

John shot him his patented charming the natives grin. He didn’t think it worked. Somehow, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Sheppard hung back as Mitchell and Vala both greeted the guy as though they were, well, not old friends, but acquaintances.

“Heya Mr Colson.” Mitchell sounded downright hesitant.

“Alec!” Vala more exuberant, then again, she was like that with _everyone_.

“Hey man, how’s the 306-prototype going?”

“Very well Colonel Mitchell, very well indeed. The new hyperdrive plans Doctors Carter, Perry and McKay managed to pull out of the Asgard Core are at least three times as efficient as the previous models we were reliant upon. With any luck, the simulations should play out in real time, and we’ll be able to integrate them into our plans. The BC-306s will be much quicker, able to carry more personnel _and_ firepower.”

Christ. It was like McKay. If Rodney had any social grace to speak of, and a disturbing tendency towards the sort of manipulation Dave excelled at. John rocked back on his heels and tried not to look too bored, this whole recert thing wasn’t supposed to be a punishment. He had to keep reminding himself that. John wasn’t entirely convinced that it was true, Landry’s apparent change of heart notwithstanding.

_Finally, _the conversation moved on and they left the gate room. John hoped the promised Death Gliders were worth it. Already he could see that keeping Vala occupied could very well end up being a full-time job. From his position hanging back, he was in prime position to watch Mitchell redirect her hands every time they crept towards Colson’s oblivious pockets.

***

Rush took a breath and stepped through the strangely glimmering surface of the event horizon. There was no perception of movement, of anything very much, despite what everyone had told him over the years. Then again, it was wonderous that there was anything to see at all. If Rush had been given over to flights of fancy, he’d have likely predicted that when a wormhole formed there would be nothing visible at all.

They were being backed up by the newly completed _USS General George Hammond _on their away mission. The planet chosen for Rush’s little experiment was a short hop and a jump, galactically speaking, away from the Delta Site. Aka the shipyards where the BC-304s were constructed, and where some of the more… volatile systems in the proposed F-306s and BC-400s were being trialled. Rush knew he wasn’t supposed to be aware of those sorts of details, but Mandy was one of the primary experts on hyperdrive systems at the SGC, and… Telford had not so much hinted, as beaten him around the head with clues about what she was working on (when she wasn’t teasing him about his social life, or lack thereof).

The soldiers around him fanned out, no doubt guarding the useless fucking civilian, or whatever it was that military types did on away missions such as these.

“Alright, perimeter sweeps, check in every five minutes.”

The young lieutenants hurried to follow David’s instructions, looking painfully efficient and youthful as they did so. Rush shared a sardonic look with Captain Satterfield, the young woman grinned at him and started directing her squad to ‘secure the perimeter’. Colonel Telford had conspired to put himself in charge of this little excursion, Rush wasn’t sure whether he should be glad, or fair fucking insulted that the colonel didn’t think he was capable of getting the information safely without David there to babysit him. The planet was apparently a typical example of Alteran terraforming. The coniferous plants that dominated the forest they’d stepped into certainly supported the hypothesis.

The whole process of connecting to the DHD took several hours to set up. Rush could tell that the young lieutenants were getting antsy, but science took time, even this sort. Finally, Mr Brody and he managed to get a fix on the frequency that this gate shared with its DHD. It had taken most of the morning, or, well Rush assumed it was morning. He had no fucking clue what the orbital velocity, or spin of the planet they were on was like.

It was an anti-climax. Rush connected the tablet with the decryption software pre-loaded onto it to the gate. The gate in turn, linked the tablet into the subspace frequencies that the DHD and gate used to communicate with each other.

He fed the fifth (sixth? Or should he count the musical cypher as the sixth?) cypher into the gate and waited for the ping of acknowledgement. Rush hoped the zero-knowledge protocol worked. He didn’t want to observe the quantum state of the crystalline structures that made up both the gate superstructure, and the DHD control computer’s nanostructure: – observation would alter the result.

Rush had been six sevenths of the way there already. Sheppard’s elliptical tangent suggestion allowed him to key up the question, ping it through the gate-DHD relay, and skim the result out of the other side.

It took moments.

The fifth cypher unfurled and spat out a chevron.

“Is that it?”

Captain Satterfield sounded at once impressed and disappointed.

“Yes Captain, it is.”

Rush let his satisfaction colour his voice. He’d finally solved it; he been working on unlocking this chevron for _weeks_.

“Great! We going to be ready to disconnect and gate out again soon? Or did you break the gate?”

Rush felt himself get defensive, he bristled,

“_Excuse me_?”

“You did say in the brief that it was a possibility Doctor.”

Next to her Mr Brody looked on the verge of panic, Rush would have found it amusing if it didn’t speak so poorly of his reputation,

“Yes yes you’re quite right, I did didn’t I?”

Rush ran the disconnect programme, and the tablet beeped at him,

“No, we’re fine. We can dial out any time you like Captain.”

“Great! I’ll just let Colonel Telford know.”

She raised a hand to her radio, and the world went to hell.

An explosion rocked the clearing. Nick scrambled to work out what had just happened,

“Colonel, we are under fire! I repeat we are under fire! A Tel’tak just came out of nowhere!”

Rush listened to the military chatter as if it were all a dream,

“Captain haul ass through the gate, SG-8 what is your position?”

A male voice tinnily echoed,

“Far side of the clearing sir!”

“Alright people get through the gate! Lieutenant we’ll hold the clearing for you!”

Rush heard the gate dial and felt himself be pushed bodily through the event horizon.

He emerged into the familiar concrete box of the SGC.

Mr Brody, Captain Satterfield and three of the six young lieutenants who’d made up their escort made it through in practically the same moment. Rush barely registered the marines pointing guns their way, even as a shiver at the sight of all those barrels went up his spine. He allowed himself to be escorted away from the ramp and joined the crowd of people tensely waiting for news.

Three figures ran through the gate and rapidly back peddled raising their hands as the marines raised their weapons.

It was the other escort team.

Where was David?

A minute passed.

A figure was bodily flung into the gate room. Soil and other debris explosively rushing through the wormhole with him.

“That’s everyone! Shut down the gate!”

It took Rush a moment to recognise the limp form as Telford.

There was a lot of blood.

As the world tunnelled alarmingly Rush finally realised that the klaxons had stopped wailing, and someone was dragging him away down the corridor. His last glimpse of David’s limp form was of the man getting his fatigues cut away by a swarm of medical types who were rapidly but efficiently surrounding his friend.

***

The week of flight recertifications was weirdly enjoyable. Despite himself, Sheppard found the whole finicky process fun. Well, no, admittedly not running through the basic flight drills and safety checks he automatically carried out every time, even in the jumpers. But, the chance to just get up there and fly, fly for the sake of flying. Not in some life or death situation, with the fate of thousands, or lately, billions, resting on his shoulders, but just him up there in the wild blue yonder. Relying on nothing more than basic lift and… Okay he could wax lyrical about the beauty of flight for hours he knew. There was a reason John had been playing with the Navier-Stokes problem on and off for years.

Cam had been just as happy to be out from under the mountain as he was, and his fellow pilot had at least been able to go off world over the past couple of months. They spent the first couple of days at the Alpha site, requalifying on the F-302s, practicing the always unwieldy changeover between engine type as they took the hybrid craft up from ground level, to low-orbit, and finally into the open black of space.

Shaft had been impressed with Shep’s ability to carry out fancy manoeuvres even in the dangerous transition zones, bemoaning that Shep hadn’t had clearance during the battle against Anubis. (Vala had been happy to ride shotgun, sending teasing messages to both pilots over the comms channel. Though, as Cam had remarked privately on the pilot to pilot coms – having her up with them meant she couldn’t cause any trouble down on the ground.)

Sheppard enjoyed practicing combat take-offs and evasive manoeuvres, practicing jinking between barrel rolls, and evasive scissoring, split-s, Immelmann turns. Aerial swoops whilst transitioning the engines had been one hell of a rush. Especially with Shaft’s woops and exclamations playing loudly over the comms as they took turns playing follow the leader. The only thing Shep didn’t much like about the fancy spacecraft was the perpetual disconnect of _knowing_ he was pulling serious Gs and never quite feeling it. Whilst the inertial dampeners weren’t as insanely efficient as the ones in the puddlejumpers, so there was still _some_ sensation at least, there was none of that mental connection that came with piloting the Ancient craft. It was only when the little craft got up to accelerations that would leave the squishy human pilot a gory smear on the inside of the cockpit that the familiar sensation of pulling Gs kicked in.

Shep had even gotten in some quick training on the handful of example Goa’uld ships the alpha site kept around for just that purpose. As well as a Death Glider, there were a few varieties of Tel’tak to play with, and one truly decrepit Al’kesh. Vala kept cackling loudly that Cam had been trying to pick up the finer points of flying the opulent craft for years, yet Shep seemed to be a natural. John was pleased despite himself, he _knew_ that Vala was only teasing, Shaft was as good as, if not a better pilot than he was, for all that Shep would never admit it. But it was fun watching the two friends tease and gripe with each other.

Not least because their squabbling didn’t carry the unpleasant undertones that Vala’s interactions with Jackson always seemed to carry to John’s outsider perspective. Jackson… As far as John could tell Jackson was an alright guy. It’d taken a while, but he’d eventually caught up on all the reports. John was aware that the man’s moral fibre and idealistic altruism had saved all their hides more than once. Yet… John had never met the man he’d read about on paper. During that brief, disastrous, visit to Atlantis, when Jackson had caught the attention of the Vanir, the man had been unpleasantly condescending.

Now, John was willing to concede that it might have been McKay’s influence, even though they were close friends, John really _really_ got that Rodney had his faults… But it hadn’t felt like that. Jackson had brought out the worst in McKay, in a similar manner to McKay’s appalling borderline sexual harassment of Sam Carter. Only, where Sam’s replies to McKay’s inappropriateness had very rarely skirted beyond the line of professional discourtesy (showing a degree of restraint that John privately thought she deserved a sainthood for), gradually allowing them both to build a friendly working relationship… Jackson had seemingly unerringly retaliated by hitting every one of Rodney’s buttons every single time.

John was aware it was slightly hypocritical of him, but he was still somewhat annoyed with Jackson’s snort of disbelieving laughter, when in a bid to earn himself ‘cool’ nerd points, McKay had brought up John’s decision not to join Mensa – as if crap like that mattered to anyone. It had made John even more determined to keep up the front of dutiful soldier, and dumb jock. If McKay was willing to bring up shit like that to score points with the cool kids, Sheppard wasn’t going to give his friend anymore ammunition to use against him near SG-1. 

It was a relief in a way, to realise that though at times Mitchell was frequently uncomfortable around Vala’s special brand of teasing, his _perfect_ military record aligning well with his good ole boy personality, that the guy genuinely seemed fond of her. It was more than Sheppard could say for Jackson.

The week at the alpha site passed as quickly as the month of gate certification training had dragged. Before he knew it, they were due back through the gate to the SGC to start reupping on standard earth side aircraft.

***

“_This_ is what you want to show Vala.”

Cam stared at Sheppard incredulously, the other officer merely tipped his head back. Sprawled as he was all over the couch like a teenager, it made him look every inch the stoner the selection of movies he’d chosen implied.

“Well, _sure_.”

The laconic drawl was all he got in response. Sheppard sounded as if he couldn’t possibly fathom what Cam’s objection to showing Vala anything from this selection could be.

“Seriously.”

Cam stared again at the list of titles that were on the USB Sheppard had apparently brought with him to the alpha site. Cam had been expecting a couple of DVDs shoved in his fellow pilot’s duffle or something, not several hundred terabytes of dubiously legal films on a stick, that from the crystalline glint he was getting, probably wasn’t earth tech. (He wasn’t going to ask.) Letting his distaste for Sheppard’s… lack of taste colour his tone, Cam incredulously started reading out some of the titles on offer,

“Blades of Glory, Zoolander, Tropic Thunder, Austin Powers, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Anchorman, Clerks, Dogma, Harold and Kumar Go To Whitecastle, Up In Smoke... Don’t you have _anything_ that isn’t…”

Exasperated Cam gestured broadly,

“…crap?”

Cam felt his voice go up an octave as more and more stoner movies made themselves obvious. Something in his tone must have gotten through to Sheppard because he was half-heartedly defending the list,

“Hey, they’re classics.”

“Sure, if you’re a teenager!”

There was a voice at the door. It was Vala, she had popcorn, and beer, and was wearing her typical gear when she decided she was trying to act like a ‘normal Taur’i woman’ as she’d once confessed. Her hair was in pigtails, a sparkly pink barrette shone in the black tresses, though the baby pink pyjamas looked remarkably chaste for her – Cam had been half expecting lingerie.

“Hello darlings. What are we watching?”

Cam stared up at her in frozen panic, he liked Vala, really, he did. She was a great teammate, and you couldn’t ask for a more dedicated friend. Vala was loyal and would go above and beyond to help out. (Even if she did try to mess with him _every single time_ she met his folks.) But… He just did not want to deal with the fallout of exposing her to this side of earth culture.

“I thought it was time we showed you the wonders of a man learning that there’s more to life than being really really really _ridiculously_ good looking.”

Sheppard even put on the stupid voice. Cam groaned, he collapsed back into the squishy embrace of the couch and resigned himself to cleaning up the inevitable fallout.

“Oh goody!”

Sheppard casually accepted one of the bowls of popcorn and cued up the movie on the crappy laptop they’d managed to requisition from one of the scientists. Sheppard’s bony elbow nudged him in the ribs,

“Hey, at least I didn’t make you put on Farscape.”

Cam wasn’t looking forward to getting back to earth, though he had to admit it would be nice to not be Vala’s primary minder again. Keeping her out of trouble at the Alpha Site had taken up far too much of Mitchell’s time, time he could have spent working out what made the Atlantis CO tick. (Cam had read all the reports out of Pegasus. He could admit, in the privacy of his own head at least, to a little hero worship. It was like meeting SG-1 all over again, after years of building them up to be larger than life heroes, the reality was all too human).

After sitting through Zoolander, Cam realised that Sheppard had set him up. When the other officer clicked out back out of the file that contained the list of movies Sheppard had shown him, there were several dozen other folders each listed by genre. Cam caught a glimpse of folders labelled, Documentaries, Attenborough, BBC4, History Channel, Conspiracy Theory Crap, Mockumentaries, College Football, Tennis, Soccer, Basketball, Baseball, MotoGP, Nascar, Formula1, Golf, Star Trek, Doctor Who, Superheroes, Action, Rom-Coms, Thrillers, Sci-fi, Horror, Satire, Parody, Brit Film, French Cinema, Spanish Film, Cellini, Bollywood, Anime, K-Dramas… The folders were too innumerable for Cam to catch them all, but the selection was both enormous and incredibly varied.

Cam shot Sheppard a filthy glare,

“Man, I thought crap movies were the only option!”

Sheppard smirked at him,

“Hey, I never said that.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d brought the entire Atlantis media server!”

The expression of wide-eyed innocence on Sheppard’s face might have been believable, if the evidence of the other pilot’s teasing wasn’t right in front of him. The folder they’d just been in was labelled, ‘Dumb Comedies’.

“Didn’t I?”

Cam scowled. Vala twisted the knife, oh she sounded perfectly innocent, but they’d been friends for years, Cam knew better,

“Well _I_ thought the way Derek put together his centre for children who can’t read good and wanna learn to do other stuff good too, and how the Eurasian prime minister rescued the poor Tau’ri children from slavery was a _very_ moving story.”

Sheppard sat back, looking triumphant,

“See! Vala liked it!”

***

Sheppard eyed up Mitchell’s vintage black 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback dubiously. Cam felt the need to defend her honour,

“Hey Shep, don’t be like that. My baby gives a smooth ride.”

Sheppard half-heartedly rolled his eyes, even the guy’s banter had relaxed some over the last week. Though Cam had already noticed his posture had wound down some after whatever the hell Vala had done that had gotten them all temporarily kicked out of the mountain. Sheppard drawled,

“See, that’s why no one believes you when you tell people how you came to be Shaft. _Shaft_.”

As well as the lewd twist he gave to the word, Sheppard waggled his eyebrows ridiculously. Or maybe not so much on the banter front. Mitchell scowled at him,

“Can it, Shep.”

Vala at least found it hilarious, of _course_ she did - she was directly responsible for the pants betting pool after all,

“Well! _Shaft, _shall we be going? Wouldn’t want to deny your _baby_ a _ride,_ now would we?”

Cam groaned loudly.

“Why Sheppard? Why’d you betray me like that?”

“Macaroons.”

Vala burst out laughing. Cam shot Sheppard a filthy glare, but he merely shot back a shit eating grin. Maybe everyone was right after all and Vala really was a corrupting influence. Then again there were also plenty of murmurs surrounding Sheppard. Crap. What had Landry been thinking? Had the General honestly expected _him_ to be able to reign _them_ in? Vala skipped across the parking lot,

“Come along boys, we wouldn’t want to keep your instructors waiting.”

“Ah come on Vala, don’t say it like that.”

Still cackling Vala claimed shotgun,

“Sorry man,” Cam turned to Sheppard, “Looks like you’re in the backseat.”

“It’s fine.”

Fortunately, Sheppard was not an awful backseat pilot unlike many of his colleagues. Every time Cam took a glance at him in the rear-view the other colonel was boredly gazing at the scenery out of the window.

***

They ended up at Peterson to train on the more mundane craft in both their respective arsenals, Shep and Cam going their separate ways when it became clear that Shaft had focused on fixed-wings, and John had jumped all over the map.

In amongst his quiet observations of the remainder of SG-1, Sheppard had been surprised to learn that he was qualified for more birds than Mitchell was. It was a hell of a thing, but between his de-facto PJ membership in Afghanistan (despite being an officer, and the fact that all PJs _had_ to be enlisted back then, even the pilots), the numerous helos he’d flown as a member of AFSOC running cross-service ops, and the seat of your pants tactics of dogfighting in F-16s, and later F-22s running covert, deniable, missions for the US government in enemy territory, and ironically enough his spell in Antarctica – Shep had flown as many, if not more, flight-worthy vehicles than some test pilots.

_Shaft _had been jealous.

Hell, it wasn’t John’s fault his air force career had been an extremely eccentric one.

After everything that had gone down in the 90s in the Balkans, John had been tapped for spec ops. He’d stayed there until he couldn’t bear the thought of running any more wet works missions. The fact that he’d managed to complete that last disastrous mission, effectively rescuing himself from a nasty POW situation, _and_ bring back the intel that had been so vital. Well. He’d practically been given his choice of assignment after the dust had settled from the near scandal in Columbia that’d been the final straw. John sometimes wondered how none of the general public were aware of the, admittedly remote, nuclear bomb that had gone off in the war that had sent him down that dark path in his career… But.

After the hell of black ops, helos had been his love. The need to carry out so many parallel operations at once just to keep the vehicles airborne, the truly three-dimensional flight paths available in such manoeuvrable vehicles. The way he’d blasted his way through training on every helo he could get permission to fly had meant he’d been damn near adopted by the pararescue squad he’d eventually been assigned to pilot for. Well. There’d really been no other choice.

Despite some good-natured ribbing John could tell that Cam had been jealous that he’d gotten to fly an Osprey, even with John’s assurances that flying the unwieldy hybrid was like trying to wrestle two pigs in mud with one arm tied behind your back.

Vala had eventually taken John aside, as they were preparing to go up in F-16s to quietly tell John in no uncertain terms just why Shaft had been so jittery and out of sorts all week. Though he didn’t admit it, Sheppard could honestly say he hadn’t noticed, and had been embarrassed to realise that some of what he’d taken to be good-natured teasing had been Mitchell in prickly self-defence mode. (Sheppard realised with some horror that he was far too used to Rodney’s complete lack of social niceties; he hadn’t even _spotted_ it.)

With every year Mitchell recertified, it was slowly becoming more and more obvious that the pins, bolts, and in a couple of places, _metal rods_ holding both of his femurs and left knee together were eating away at his physical health. One of these days Mitchell wouldn’t pass the medical and would be invalided out of piloting. His circulation would eventually become too compromised to withstand piloting at the high-Gs that jet engines, let alone F-302s with their imperfect inertial dampening and impossible acceleration required from their pilots. John blanched at that information. He couldn’t imagine losing the sky.

Vala had been incensed as she’d explained the situation,

“Those, those Tau’ri _butchers, _their solution to his injuries did more harm than good. If they hadn’t cut out so very much of his leg, I’d have been able to do something for him, but… A hand device can’t remove metal bonded to bone. Or regrow quite so much missing tissue. If I only had a sarcophagus.”

John nodded gravely, despite not fully understanding what she was talking about he got the gist.

Despite his unvoiced worries, Cam cleared them permission to have an impromptu dog fight (both planes set to ‘war games’ mode of course) in the F-22s at the end of their time there. That had been fun, Mitchell had been extremely upset when Sheppard had ‘won’ three out of four rounds against him. Considering the information Vala had shared, Sheppard really hadn’t had the heart to point out that he’d been doing a lot more piloting than Mitchell lately, not to mention the whole enforced thinking in three-dimensions thing that both helos and puddlejumpers required. Perhaps he should insist that Cam try the ATA therapy, Shaft would really enjoy spaceships you could fly with your mind, physical fitness was less of an issue with Ancient tech constantly adjusting gravity down to a comfortable 1g for you. A necessity, given that the jumpers routinely accelerated at rates that would reduce their squishy human occupants to so much red paste if they allowed their occupants to feel the real acceleration affecting the little ships.

Sheppard still thought that little factoid was incredibly cool, no matter sorts of looks the non-pilots kept shooting him every time he brought it up. His little puddlejumpers routinely made insanely quick sublight speeds using accelerations that by rights should kill their occupants. Sure, they looked like space Winnebago’s, but their ugly frame belied a hell of a flying machine. 

***

The three of them had just taken up a pavehawk that was badly in need of a service, the manoeuvrability of the helo, compromised, but not in any way that made it a hazard to fly. Just in a way that, quoting Sheppard, made the helo handle like a “sack of angry cats”. The spark chaser assigned to the helo couldn’t find what was wrong, knowing that Sheppard had flown more helo models than hot dinners, Cam had volunteered his services.

Cam had found the relaxed weeks of recertification a nice change of pace, despite the tension that threaded its way up his spine every time recertifications came around again. One of these days Cam knew he’d come back from the biannual chore a confirmed broke dick. He was dreading the inevitable day of his fini flight. Vala was aware of his fears, it shone in her eyes even as she played along. It had been nice to recert with Sheppard, and his obliviousness. It gave Cam a chance to pretend that everything was certain, and this stuff was just a formality, an opportunity to have fun with a fellow pilot. Even with that creeping dread, it sure beat cooling his heels doing paperwork at the SGC, or tagging along with other gate teams, feeling like a perpetual third wheel.

Now don’t get him wrong, the guys on the other gate teams were all great people, but Cam knew the bond that formed between teammates, and he missed SG-1 every time he ran a mission.

It was especially apparent when he ran a mission with Colonel Edwards’ team, or even worse Colonel Dixon’s team. His fellow Colonel was _not_ a man Cam would have chosen to socialise with, too bitter about his wife, too caught up trying to prove his was properly macho now that he’d been ‘saddled’ with four kids, too… _Too_ sexist. The Colonel’s team all seemed well used to the man, none of them seemed to fear his temper, even with the threats constantly issuing from the guy’s mouth, they’d all been _fond_, not nervous of his company. Apparently, the guy had gone all morose after that documentary crew had made such a nuisance of themselves the day they lost Janet Frasier. It had only served to highlight just how much he missed SG-1, and made Cam wonder just how mad _his_ team looked to outsiders.

Cam was impressed with the casual control Sheppard was displaying with the pavehawk, the ground crew for the vehicle hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with it, the helo’s pilot insisted it wasn’t handling right, but couldn’t give specifics. The flight qualified tech had thought it was unflyable when he’d tried it out. The helicopter had been grounded for nearly two weeks as a result, the guys at Peterson had jumped at the chance to get someone who might be able to determine what was wrong with the helo up in a diagnostic flight.

They took in the majesty that was the state of Colorado from the air. It was a breath-taking sight, the kind of view that pilots of all varieties flew for.

“So, Shep, what’s a rotorhead like you doing with so many fighters under your belt? I hadn’t taken you for a throttlejockey, but all those lawndarts under your belt... F15, F-16, F-22, F-35…”

Cam let the list trail off, it was a truly ridiculous range of aircraft. Given that Cam had been tapped for the F-302s because he’d been a test pilot, the fact that _he_ thought that was saying something,

“Well, the F-35 was a favour owed I cashed in.”

Sheppard’s voice crackled over the headphones, Cam bit out in frustration,

“Aw come on Sheppard, you’re _killing_ me here!”

“Ah, let’s just say that I was given _an opportunity to excel,” _the sarcasm in Sheppard’s voice was thick enough to slice, even through the headsets, “after an operation went Charlie Foxtrot I discovered the joy of helos. It fills all your concentration, nothing else quite like it.”

Cam wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, the conversation was clearly filled with landmines even now, despite the way Sheppard was trying to sound laidback about it all. Behind him, Vala was cheerfully exclaiming over the ‘rudimentary’ Tau’ri vehicle, she’d caught Sheppard’s line about how difficult helos could be to fly,

“A halfway decent design wouldn’t need the pilot to fight against it S.O.”

“Hey! No dissing the pavehawk!”

“I’m just pointing out the obvious Beautiful.”

“Hey! I thought we agreed no more beautifuls.”

“Now John darling, Daniel isn’t here to get annoyed.”

Cam let their bickering wash over him, it wasn’t as barbed as whenever she got into it with Jackson, but the byplay was comfortingly familiar. Sheppard’s voice, in a newly brusque tone, interrupted his quiet observation of their interactions,

“Ah I think I’ve identified the fault; the hydraulics feel sticky.”

Cam blinked in alarm, that could be serious.

“Flight control this is Lima Romeo Six Nine Two. Requesting permission to land.”

The helo smoothly turned towards Peterson, the thought that had been jumping up and down for Cam’s attention for the whole flight finally made itself known,

“Sheppard Air Force base, wait, are you one of _those_ Sheppards?”

Even over the headsets Sheppard’s sigh was rueful, “Yeah, I am.”

“Huh. I had no idea man.”

“Well, my family aren’t exactly the caring type.”

And that was that. Cam shot his fellow throttle jockey a sympathetic look, that the other pilot ignored. A moment later Sheppard surprised him by getting chatty, though he was still using his flight helmet as an excuse not to acknowledge the conversation in any way physically,

“Look, even if I’d _wanted_ my career to be built on that kinda shaky house of cards old boys club _bullshit_, I don’t think my old man would have done it. He thought joining the armed forces was a stain on the family name. If anything, he was calling his old Cold War buddies to try and _sabotage_ my career.”

“Shit man, seriously?”

“Yeah, last time we talked he still hadn’t forgiven me for getting all that permission stuff squared away without him finding out about it.”

“I thought you signed up _after_ you’d done your degrees?”

Sheppard’s casual, “Yeah?” wasn’t.

The rest of the trip down to ground level was carried out in silence, as the light bird beside him did his best to pretend that powering down the helo needed all his concentration. Which, given landing was the most dangerous time in any flight, Cam was prepared to accept that. Cam chewed the information over, Sheppard had still been young enough when he’d signed up that he’d needed a commendation to bypass parental permission? Was that what the other officer had been implying? Damn no wonder the guy had been so tight-lipped about his family all week.

***

Vala had thought the chance to get out of the mountain would be more interesting than _this_. Oh, the flights had been pretty fun at first, the delightfully atavistic Tau’ri vehicles really did convey the sensation of motion and flight in a manner that most of the craft she’d flown rarely did. Usually only when something was about to go very _very_ wrong.

Though honestly, other than watching two of her favourite Tau’ri bicker and try to one up each other… Vala missed winding up the Tau’ri scientists and talking freely with people who understood who she was. Vala hadn’t so much escaped the strictures of the mountain, as exchanged one form of confinement for another. No one at Peterson was in the loop. At the alpha site at least she’d been able to be herself, Alec Colson and all the delightfully sweaty people involved in welding together the various pieces of Trinium that formed the outer hulls of the Tau’ri’s ugly, yet powerful space-faring vessels had all been in the loop. It was so _difficult_ toeing the line on a planet where most of the population was deliberately kept in ignorance of the greater world beyond the confines of their gravity well.

The Tau’ri at Peterson had no idea about the galaxy. Vala was viewed with a degree of suspicion mixed with lust that she’d long since forgotten how to gird herself against, oh she’d thought she remembered what it was like. That depth of distrust. The need to constantly be on guard, watch out in case a lynch mob… or worse, caught you. But she’d grown soft.

For all that she was busy going through the motions of happily tormenting ignorant Tau’ri, Vala would be relieved when dear Cameron, and S.O. finished their final training flights. They’d told the usual ‘civilian consultant’ expert in security systems and finances cover story, but… from the looks they were _all_ getting from the other Tau’ri soldiers Vala doubted they’d been believed. It wasn’t entirely clear which of the three of them was coping with the distrust best. Sheppard had fallen back on that all too false nonchalant posture that he tended to wear when Vala thought he might be struggling. The fuck you grins, and insolent slouch were just a hair too practiced, his shoulders just a fraction too straight, for the apparent relaxation to be anything but false. Cameron? Cam was falling into what he called his good ole’ boy routine. Vala might not have been able to see through it a few years ago, but the childish ‘frat boy’ humour, and the tendency to blush whenever anything _remotely_ sexual happened, only tended to come out when her dear teammate was trying to compensate for some other perceived lack.

Yes, Vala would be happy to see the back of this place this afternoon.

With a monumental effort that none of the Tau’ri would ever appreciate, Vala decided _not_ to palm the wallet of the SF who kept blatantly staring at her breasts. It was one thing when they looked because she’d invited the attention, it was quite another when the leering attention happened regardless of the fact that she was wearing a shapeless flight suit. Vala was relieved when S.O. appeared in the quiet cafeteria, he looked almost relaxed, the days up in the air had done both of her boys good. (Even with the nagging constant fear about whether _this_ year would be the last time darling Cameron passed the physical.)

Vala rocked back in her chair, tilting it back onto two legs, obnoxiously kicked _her_ legs up onto the table and watched as Sheppard half-heartedly put together a tray of coffee and fruit. She understood the lack of enthusiasm, even to Vala’s taste buds the coffee at Peterson was even worse than the usual drek the Tau’ri served.

“Hey S.O.”

“Hey yourself.”

Yeah despite the issues with secrecy, Sheppard was looking much calmer than Vala had ever seen him. Oh, he still wasn’t quite _right, _that perpetual stiffness in his shoulders was still very much present. But darling Cam had gotten him to unwind.

The SF was now shooting pointed looks at Vala’s boots rather than her breasts, she ignored him.

As he picked his way through his fruit cup, S.O. seemed to be working himself up to saying something. He was doing that lip chewing thing again. Vala was content to wait him out, though she amused herself by ‘stealing’ chunks of the orange blocky fruit (Sam had called it… Papaya? So strange how the Tau’ri naming conventions were so completely erratic and spread out across so many languages for such a small planet) that he didn’t seem to like.

Eventually S.O. opened his mouth,

“Vala…” The hesitation was frustrating, Vala did her best not to let her impatience show, “Say, how’d you like to come meet my brother next week?”

_Oh_.

Family.

Oh of course. Sheppard was staring intently down at his fruit (which was almost entirely orange papaya now) as if it held all the secrets of the universe. Given her own history with her father Vala understood immediately.

“Oh S.O. I’d love to be a supportive friend!”

He blinked at her with wide eyes, then ducked his head. For all that Vala did indeed enjoy the sight of his improbable hair (mostly for the way it made General Landry’s eye twitch), she was beginning to get annoyed with S.O.s reticence,

“Hey, S.O. SG-1 helped me when my wastrel of a father came for a visit. _I_ helped darling Cameron when he had to confront a…” Vala took care to get the phrase right, “a _High School Reunion_.” 

As if summoned, Cameron appeared and sat down heavily,

“High school reunion?” He looked between S.O. and Vala, his open face crinkling with misplaced concern, “Man, Shep don’t invite Vala to any high school reunion if that’s what you’re doing. She told my parents we were together.” Cam leaned over, “She described our fictional sexual acts in _explicit_ detail to my Mama.”

From the look on Sheppard’s face even _that_ would be preferable to facing his brother alone. Vala decided to interrupt before dear oblivious Cameron could put S.O. off the idea of moral support,

“I know! Cameron darling why don’t we both accompany John?”

Cameron’s deferral was instant and instinctual, he’d been set up too many times by each and every member of SG-1 to just go around to agreeing to things,

“What, Vala! Now wait just a minute. What’re you signing me up for here?”

Vala who’d been keeping an eye on S.O. as Cam got over his outburst internally cursed Mitchell’s learnt behaviour. She knew all that teasing would bite someone in the ass one day, but she hadn’t expected it to be anyone outside of SG-1. Vala glared daggers in Cameron’s direction,

“Now Cameron dear, who are you to refuse emotional support to a colleague. I helped _you_ get ‘jiggy’ with that blonde Tau’ri woman, Vanderburg.”

Predictably Cameron flushed pink, good,

“_Vala_! You did _not_ just refer to catching up with an old friend as-”

“Oh, use whatever euphemism you want Cameron, we all _know_ what you were doing.”

Thankfully the byplay got S.O. to relax again, he was visibly smirking at the pair of them the next time Vala coyly glanced his way.

“Well, Cameron, don’t you think it’s our duty to accompany S.O. here to meet his brother?”

“Aw Shep, why didn’t you say so. I’ll bring my Grandma’s famous macaroons.”

Sheppard groaned theatrically. Vala grinned in triumph and ate the last of his papaya.

***

John was surprised by how good it felt to be back at the SGC. As he was making his way towards the SGC’s gym, John thought he heard a Scottish burr, huh. He chewed his lip wryly; he hadn’t expected to immediately bump into the mathematician. The voices got loud enough to make out, oh that didn’t sound good, Rush sounded harried,

“Colonel Telford was merely helping me with my project.”

“God _dammit_ Rush! You had no right to demand this mission! The man is lying in the infirmary to satisfy _your_ **_curiosity_**!!”

John heard the roaring shout, and the threatening tone echoing loudly down the corridor and upped his pace, that sounded damned hostile to him,

“I dun ken what you’re so pissed about Colonel. The Icarus Project is none of your concern. It’s hardly any business of yours. Colonel Telford and I both agreed that that was the best location to study. The mission was fully sanctioned, we went out there last week without your approval. Which is both unneeded and unwante-“

There was a loud thump. Sheppard put on an extra burst of speed.

John rounded the corner and took in the scene at a glance, a burly full bird was looming threateningly over the small Scottish scientist that John had taken a shine to. The confrontation was barely skirting the right side of nonviolent; Young was using his greater bulk to box Rush in against the wall, looming over him and crowding him in with his arm - which was still threateningly fisted against the wall right next to Rush’s ear.

Rush was doing his best to look unaffected by the implied physical violence in that posture, but John recognised someone trying not to show fear by putting up a front of nonchalance when he saw it. After all, he used the tactic often enough.

John called out a greeting, “Colonel.”

Young started guiltily and turned,

“Colonel.”

Sheppard noted that Young’s knuckles were already bruising, and blood was oozing where he’d gashed them against the wall. He levelled Young with a quelling look, for once using _his_ greater height to loom rather than lean away. The man was a fucking _canary_ through and through from the way he blanched at the mild threat.

John shot Rush a questioning look, the irascible scientist rolled his eyes in response, but John noted that the man’s shoulders were slowly untensing. Sheppard turned his stare back onto the full bird, the guy technically outranked him, but John had used this glare to stare down Wraith Queens, and _Kolya_, and insane tinpot dictators so jumped up on their own imagined power they didn’t know death when it was looking them in the eye. Mr ‘I think it’s fun to scare civilians’ clearly knew he’d been caught red handed. Literally. Young backed down quickly,

“Excuse me.”

John glared after him as he bid his hasty retreat. A man that volatile should not be on duty. He turned to Rush and asked,

“You okay?”

“Yes yes I’m perfectly alright Colonel. I grew up itinerant around the Glasgow docks, I hardly need your protection.”

John automatically shot back, “Didn’t look that way to me Nick.”

John could see the pride warring with the relief. The familiar behaviour made him smile, in many ways Rush really was alarmingly like McKay. Just, yunno, without the automatic running of his mouth. McKay tended to insult everyone around him, most frequently imprecations about intelligence or lack thereof, and parentage. John _knew_ it was unthinking on McKay’s part, an automatic defence mechanism learned after years of being a misfit, disliked even by his fellow misfits. But having lived through that existence himself, John had gradually become fed up of the way his friend used it as a permanent excuse for his constant belittling of others.

It was nice to be able to enjoy that spiky intelligence, without the nastily personal abuse that McKay thoughtlessly threw out at even his closest friends. John had a great ability to let it all wash over him, well used to taking the rough with the smooth. Usually he found McKay’s abrasiveness extremely amusing but… given the way he’d been dropped like a stone lately, John had to admit it was tiring to deliberately not take offense. Especially once he’d realised that McKay would not hesitate to use personal information against you in even the pettiest of arguments.

It had been that realisation, well, that and McKay’s transparent attempts to gain a white picket fence and 2.5 children, that had made John glad he’d never voiced his feelings for the man, never spoken up and revealed the nascent attraction he’d been nursing for years. No, his – he could admit this to himself at least, his _love_ for his teammate. McKay chasing after Keller like a dog in heat, after the initial shocked hurt, really _hadn’t_ triggered the dejection that John had been dreading. If anything, he’d been _happy_ to see his friend so happy. He’d been shocked to realise that at some stage, whilst he hadn’t been paying attention, his love for McKay had shifted from inappropriate crush into the same platonic family category that Ronon and Teyla had comfortably settled into years before.

They were team. Team. Closer than siblings. John thought back on that old phrase, ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’ In just about every respect the people on Atlantis, were his family of choice. Taking the rough with the smooth with the gang on Lantis was usually well worth it, he’d gained so much from his friends.

Shaking himself out of his brief reverie, John shot an amused grin at Rush, as if he was playing along with the scientist’s need to pretend nothing had happened. Sheppard kept an eye on Young’s retreating form. He didn’t know what to make of Colonel Young, John had never really been in on the SGC grapevine, not around for long-enough, too much of an outsider before Atlantis, and too much longing for Pegasus whilst they’d been temporarily kicked off Atlantis. Still, even h_e’d_ heard about the disastrous mission that meant Young’s whole gate team was dead. Well, all of them apart from Young that is. Thirty-seven members of the SGC had died during that operation to save Telford from the Lucian Alliance.

John really wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was pity, sympathy, anger. Or a combination of all three. The _poor bastard_. John had had a taste of how Young must be feeling himself, when he’d been shot forward 48,000 years into the future. (He pointedly did not let himself _think_ about Holland or Mitch and Dex.) It had been more than enough. H_e’d_ had Rodney 2.0 to keep him company. John kept his gaze level, deliberately meeting the guy’s eyes when, as John predicted, he looked back with a hostile glare. Everything he’d heard said that Young had been a bit of a joker, a prankster… Before. Before.

If he was being brutally honest with himself, John knew that the emotion that he was ruthlessly quashing, sickeningly, was bitter jealousy. He _had_ been there before, where Young was standing. His whole team, his whole squadron dead. Only, instead of the sympathetic kid-gloves that Young was being treated to, John had immediately been under an Article 15 that had very nearly turned into a court martial. He’d nearly been thrown out of the air force.

Ironic really, the punishment assignment that he’d ended up on, flying taxi-service to and from McMurdo, had earnt him a ribbon - an Antarctica Service ribbon, alongside the right to wear the 1 year’s ‘Wintered’ badge and lapel pins. John had never bothered to wear them, but perhaps he should one of these days. In remembrance of those he’d earned them for.

Back then he’d been given the options of Antarctica or Guam. Both cruel and unusual punishments for pilots as qualified as he was, Guam’s base didn’t have _any_ aircraft. Antarctica? Well, due to the hostile weather, it was only possible to fly there at most, if you were very _very_ lucky, six months out of the year. Fortunately, the chairman heading the committee made it painfully clear that Sheppard should consider McMurdo a chance to cool his heels and lick his wounds. After that first hellish winter stuck inside the claustrophobic scientific outpost, the Colonel heading the base had pretty much ordered him to spend those six months training on whatever jets and helos caught his fancy at the nearest base that was still open. 

An impatient voice broke through the cobwebs and shook John out of his reverie,

“Come along Colonel, we don’t want to waste the whole day standing around here.”

“Well, yeah Doc, that’s why I’m here.”

Rush shot him a quizzical look. All lopsided eyebrows and unhappy moue,

“Oh come on Doc, meeting my brother? Remember? You said that you’d come with if I backed your plan to go offworld? We were going to head down to Denver tomorrow morning?”

John watched the realisation dawn,

“Oh yes yes. Of course, Colonel. I hadn’t realised that was so soon.”

“Cool, see you topside in the morning?”

“Yes yes.”

John made his way to the gym, feeling more content to be at the SGC than he had in weeks. It wasn’t Atlantis no, but the task of getting her back to Pegasus no longer felt quite so much like Sisyphus and his boulder.

***

David eyed up his little brother. At times he looked so much like Mom it took his breath away; the same dark hair, same jawline, same golden skin, same eye colour, same _attitude_. The similarities made something clench in David’s chest. David took after Dad; both men so alike in physique and attitude that they’d always been a happy pair. Obviously, father and son. Johnny though? Johnny was like Mom, and hadn’t that been a gut punch after everything that happened? David wrenched himself away from the bitter memories with an effort; that was years ago now. Despite how he’d felt when he was a teenager, full of hormones and feeling so _so_ adult, he knew that what had gone on hadn’t been Johnny’s fault. Dad had said as much. Though his father’s actions hadn’t.

David refocussed on his brother in the here and now. Even from this distance he looked tired, and old. More so than he had at the funeral. David wasn’t sure if he should be feeling amused or insulted that his baby brother had decided he needed a whole cohort with him for moral support this time. His father’s funeral rated one ‘consultant’, yet a planned visit needed three of them? Only one of them looked even remotely military to David’s eye too. What about the other two, more ‘consultants’?

If the little guy was in the military David would eat his hat. He looked about as far removed from the air force as the other ‘consultant’ Johnny had dragged along with him last time. Where Johnny’s previous companion had been rough and overtly sexual, the new guy looked earnestly academic. Albeit in a well to do, discretely wealthy manner, which David found himself grudgingly approving of. Though the long ridiculous hair was almost as bad as the stripper with the dreadlocks Johnny had brought to the funeral. As for the woman… She was in pigtails for god’s sake! Honest to god pigtails! David wasn’t going to touch on her outfit with a barge pole, but trashy trying for classy was the keyword. There was so much cleavage and ass on display David was honestly surprised that she hadn’t been stopped for public indecency.

David strolled over, doing his best to look at ease, and ignore the way his little brother seemed to protectively hunch in on himself, further wrinkling his already wrinkled suit as he got nearer. Did Johnny really think he was that much of an ogre? David knew what he’d said in the heat of the moment at the funeral had been nearly unforgiveable, but he’d thought they’d sorted it all out afterwards. Looking ill at ease John stopped a good couple of feet away, awkwardly scrubbed at his hair and muttered in that damned west coast drawl of his,

“Hey Dave.”

David nodded tightly at his little brother, feeling his jaw tense involuntarily at the nervous look he was shooting him,

“John.”

His little brother was slouching back, hands jammed in his pockets. Johnny was projecting casual ease with everything he was worth – that devil may care attitude dialled up so high it _had_ to be fake. David felt himself straightening up in response, just like last time, he wanted to lash out, give Johnny something to _actually_ be nervous about. David caught himself going to loom and made himself take a deep breath and a step back. He recognised his reaction as something he’d have done when he was fifteen, or worse, a pale imitation of how his father would have acted. Half of David’s desire to lash out was due to the way Johnny had managed to irreparably rumple his suit with that perpetual slouch of his, a reaction he was well-aware was wholly irrational. Dad never had liked the way Johnny tended to ignore the decorum lessons he’d ‘paid good money for.’

David eyed up the trio Johnny had brought with him; they were hanging back. He knew he should be grateful for their discretion but couldn’t find it within himself to think so when everything was so painfully stilted. With one final curious look in their direction, David turned back to face Johnny just in time to catch him doing that lip chewing thing that he hated so much. The nervous habit never spoke of anything good.

David very nearly shamed himself by saying something deeply cutting in response to his nerves, he felt a shameful burst of gratitude when one of John’s companions interjected himself into the long gap in the conversation. The short man straight marched up to him, with his arm already outstretched,

“Dr Nicholas Rush.”

The Scottish accent was a surprise, as was the glare the short doctor was giving him, Dave felt himself bristle in response,

“Oh and I suppose _you’re_ an air force consultant too?”

The sarcasm was thick. Rush responded in kind,

“No, of course not; I’m a fucking soldier on the front lines. _Of **course** I’m a fucking consultant_. What do ye think? I do cryptography for the American military industrial complex for my sins, not my health.”

Quite apart from the stunning vulgarity, David was shocked by the man’s attitude. He almost spat back in kind, but between the death glare Johnny was shooting his way, and the way his other two companions had walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder behind his little brother, he thought better of it.

“Now that we’re all here.” David gestured awkwardly at the bulk of the middling establishment that stood behind him, “Shall we go inside?”

***

Their little group settled into the restaurant, Vala could practically see Sheppard the Elder sneering down his nose at the setting, even though to Vala’s jaded eyes the establishment was a luxurious example of a Tau’ri dining place. Oh, it was no Goa’uld pleasure palace, wreathed in gold, with only the finest offerings from several dozen serf-planets being served. But then again, what was? Not to mention it neatly avoided the whole, enslavement, death, torture, and becoming a host angle.

Rush was being fidgety, unlike Vala herself, he seemed well used to the social mores of the situation, but he kept shooting looks in S.O.’s and his brother’s direction. By Sokar, their interactions were so uncomfortable that even _Cam_ had noticed something and being from a loving happy family, dear Cam tended to be oblivious to such things.

“So… Dave, what’ve you been up to?”

Dave cocked his head and gave an unamused grin,

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends John?”

S.O. tilted a look out of the window, and gestured ineptly,

“Oh, right, yeah, this is Colonel Cameron Mitchell, and that’s Vala Mal Doran. We sorta work together.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and continued, “Guys, that’s Dave.”

Dear Cameron stuck out his hand confidently, seemingly still oblivious to the undercurrents at the table,

“Nice to meet you.”

Vala watched with amusement as S.O.s brother automatically returned the bit of Tau’ri etiquette, then looked surprised with himself. Vala leaned across the table,

“Charmed I’m sure.”

She put just enough of a sneer in her tone to convey that she really _wasn’t_ sure that she was charmed at all. Dave gave her a scornful look, Vala wasn’t sure what it was he disapproved of, but it was clear that he thought her lacking.

Vala had done her best to wear her most boring Tau’ri attire especially for the occasion, but apparently it hadn’t helped. The waiter took their order, cutting through the tension in the air. Vala watched Dave watching them make their decisions. Rush seemed to pass some sort of approval metre, Cameron barely earned a backwards glance, but Vala and S.O. were subject to barely concealed contempt.

Dave scoffed at Vala’s choice of meal, and S.O.s choice of non-alcoholic beverage. He sneered at Vala’s attempts to unfold her napkin from the ridiculous arrangement the restaurant had seen fit to leave it in (some sort of bird?), _and_ he kept shooting sideways looks between Sheppard and everyone else. It took a while, but Vala gradually realised that he was trying to work out who S.O. could be sleeping with. The looks of confused disapproval warring with outright disgust when he flickered between believing Sheppard and Cameron were together, Sheppard and Rush, and apparently worst of all, Sheppard and Vala, would almost have been amusing if they weren’t so familiar.

Rush took up the strain of making conversation, the little ball of beautiful spite wasn’t very good at it,

“So Mr Sheppard, how are you finding Denver?”

“Oh it’s fine.”

“_Really_?” Rush looked incredulous, “Thus far I _intensely_ dislike Colorado. When your government decided that they simply could not do without my skills as a mathematician I naively assumed there’d be more compensation for dropping my entire life and moving cross country to carry out the oh-so-vital work that I was aggressively recruited for, but _no_.”

Vala could tell Rush was playing to his audience, Dave was blinking incredulously in response to the diatribe. The waiter interrupted again with their drinks, Cameron was left smirking into his newly arrived glass of coke as Rush continued to rant about the landscape, the lack of conveniences, the size of the city, and America’s ‘insufferable idea of urban design’. Vala watched with some concern as Sheppard longingly eyed the large glass of wine that Dave got when their drinks arrived. She decided to run some of her own interference,

“So… Dave. What do you do for a living? I tell you, life as a civilian contractor with the air force can be the most _fascinating_ thing on the planet, but it can also be the most _boring _work you’ve never heard of. I tell you, _accounts_. I’d have never thought my life would take me that way, but I wouldn’t change it for all the Naquad- uh gold I could get my hands on.”

“Oh I’m the CEO of Sheppard Industries,” He puffed up with self-importance, “the largest utilities firm in the United States.”

Vala nodded, “Uhuh.” In a tone deliberately pitched to insult. She reached across the table and snagged the snobbish Tau’ri’s glass of wine, took a large gulp, aware that alcohol barely affected her post-Qetesh, and smiled provocatively. By happy coincidence their food turned up before Dave, who’d been building up to some sort of outburst could respond.

“…Vala…”

Cameron hissed in a low undertone.

“What? Oh Cameron, it’s hardly my fault that your backwords world is so hide bound on keeping such a ridiculous secret that I’m not allowed to even speak about what it is we really do out there. Honestly, you Tau’ri are so backwards with keeping your population in the dark about such a basic fact of lif-mmm mmmhhh mmph!”

Cameron reached across and clamped his hand over Vala’s mouth at that point. Dave looked both incredulous and angry, but he hadn’t deigned to say anything, just shot S.O. yet another glare.

The meal passed in awkward silence.

The uneasiness continued as they made their way toward the civilian airfield that S.O. had been so enthusiastic about showing them all earlier. Vala could have kicked herself when she finally recognised the change in Sheppard’s body language for what it was. It was so blatant, writ large across his… His _everything_. His posture, the shuttered expression on his face, the near manic glint in his eyes. S.O. stood there, back straight, shoulders square, yet simultaneously managing to somehow lean away from his much larger brother, and hunch in on himself. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but Vala could see that he wanted to cross them in front of himself from the way he kept shifting as if to move them. Vala could only say that she hadn’t recognised it, because she hadn’t expected to see it here, on Earth of all places. Vala should have known better.

Sheppard was standing there, only barely managing not to flinch away because he kept expecting to be struck.

Oh, he mostly managed to hide it.

Vala could tell, to her relief, that the brother, cold though he was, had no clue why S.O. was being so standoffish. The elder brother was distant, coolly glaring down at the Tau’ri soldier, but wholly oblivious to the reason his sibling was acting so strangely. But – Vala _knew_ that body language. Had borne it herself, inspired it in others, and generally been around the wrong side of too many planets not to see it for what it was. Something about Sheppard’s family brought those instincts out in the otherwise dangerous yet quietly self-contained Tau’ri. She could tell that Cam didn’t recognise it. Her dear teammate simply didn’t have the frame of reference, he wasn’t _expecting_ to see it, so he didn’t. But to someone like her?

She felt for both siblings, she could tell from the way the taller brother kept tipping his head to the side, the way he subconsciously echoed S.O.s leaning away posture, that he _wanted_ to connect with his brother. Vala was unsurprised when she realised that she wasn’t the only one who’d put it together, Gorgeous Rush was staring at the brothers interacting with his lips pursed. He was alternately crossing his arms and rubbing at the meat of his shoulder whenever he glanced back at them. The elder brother leaned forward again, and did the head tilting thing, S.O. leaned further away. Dammit, Vala could see the older- David- Dave getting angrier the longer this continued. She doubted either brother was consciously aware of what was happening between them, but she could practically read the emotions hanging thickly in the air.

Vala only hoped that the excitement she was just as easily reading building up in both Tau’ri pilots as they neared the airfield would help smooth over the hesitant attempts of both brothers to relate to each other. Though honestly, from the side-glances Dave kept shooting their whole group she sincerely doubted it would be enough.

***

On the ride over David couldn’t quite believe that he’d agreed to this ridiculous charade. Johnny was the one who liked daredevil sports, not him. The airfield was quite a way out from Denver, so David had plenty of journey time to try and work out who his little brother was these days.

Johnny was shooting him that ‘I’m a scary soldier so don’t mess with me’ look again, David wanted to laugh in his little brother’s face, he’d been swimming with corporate sharks on a level Johnny couldn’t conceive of for decades. Blithely David grinned, tilted his head mockingly, and got going on another embarrassing childhood story,

“There was this one time. Johnny and I were supposed to be mucking out the horses. Instead he decided to take Thunder, the unbroken thoroughbred for a ride around the estate. Five hours later he came back, tail between his legs, with a broken arm, and a very well-fed horse. Thunder had decided that the pasture two fences over, looked more attractive than the riding track and took John on one hell of a ride. Dad was _furious_.”

David noticed with a frisson of glee that Johnny had stuffed a large mouthful of some hideous health bar in his mouth in a bid to hide his embarrassment, despite the mediocre meal they’d just sat through. It wasn’t working, the other military man, Mitchell, was looking at his little brother with poorly concealed humour,

“Man, Shep you never told us your brother was such a card.”

A mulish expression came onto Johnny’s face,

“Well… Speaking of what we got up to when we were kids… Remember that time you promised you’d help me cross the washed-out stream Dave?”

The sparkle in Johnny’s eye boded for nothing good, nor the challenging tilt to his chin,

“You see Mitchell, Dave knew that Dad didn’t like it when I came back with my school uniform all dirty. It’d been raining on the ranch, unseasonal, torrential, roads _gone_ rain. I was a squirt back then. So, Dave promised that he’d help get across the river that used to be the path. He had me, halfway across, in a piggyback hold. When he stopped dead. Said, ‘now you’re going in’ and dropped me straight into the deepest spot.”

Johnny met David’s eye and held his gaze,

“Blamed me too when we both got back in drenched to the bone, nearly hypothermic, and covered head to toe in mud.” Johnny seemed to find the view of an industrial site on the outskirts of the city unduly fascinating, in an undertone that nevertheless carried he added, “Got one hell of a thrashing that day.”

David felt the heat rising up his neck, soon it would be visible above his shirt collar. Thankfully they made it to the ridiculous airfield, and Johnny all but jumped out of the rental.

***

John practically leapt out of the car; he didn’t even wait for it to stop. He strode towards the front desk, ignoring the prickling sensation on the back of his neck, as he felt the stares of both his brother, and the people he’d dragged along as witness to the latest little SNAFU in the affairs of the family Sheppard.

He busied himself signing in, and showing his, and eventually, Mitchell’s credentials as newly recertified military pilots to the guy in charge of letting the little prop planes out of the hangar. There was no way he could face more of Dave’s variety of pointed questions this afternoon. Not after the absolute car crash that was lunch, or the way _Rush_ of all people kept sending him concerned looks.

No, Shep would take this bird up in the air, and hopefully show Dave a little of just what he did these days. He knew it wouldn’t be enough. Hell, John figured even taking down a wraith directly in front of his brother probably wouldn’t cut it. Not after the years of separation, and Dave only seeing the world through the lens Dad had built for them, but… flying always took the worst of the edge off. And well, for all that they weren’t his team, couldn’t hope to emulate the way Rodney, Teyla and Ronon were family, were _more_ than family… These guys from the SGC would be there to have his back. John didn’t think he’d imagined the way Mitchell kept looking in distaste at his older brother once the embarrassing childhood stories had been well and truly mined.

Dear Dave had misjudged that one.

Shaft knew what it was like out there, and probably didn’t take kindly to family who didn’t have each other’s six.

After carrying out his own set of safety checks on the little plane, John cautiously took the Cessna knock-off up, feeling grateful that these practical strangers had all, for some inexplicable reason, agreed to act as a buffer between himself and his brother. Shaft was just an all-around infuriatingly good guy, liked by enlisted and the brass alike, but Shep couldn’t even begin to fathom why Vala and Rush had agreed to tag along.

As the little plane made its way up into the atmosphere John felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. There was always something glorious about getting up here, out into the vast blue sky. Eventually he persuaded Dave to come and sit up front, Mitchell seceded his prime spot with good grace, joining Vala and Rush in the tiny passenger cabin.

“So, how’re the kids doing?”

“Oh fine fine. Lizzie says thank you for her birthday present by the way. You shouldn’t have John.”

“Hey it was nothing.”

“No, I mean you really shouldn’t have, she’s an absolute menace with that model helicopter. She broke a window and Amy wants one too now.”

“Oh good, I hope Bobbie isn’t too upset with me.”

“Oh no, _Roberta_ thinks it’s great that the girls are bonding over something that isn’t makeup.”

John grinned unrepentantly as he kept an eye on their flight path. Dave looked at John awkwardly,

“You still doing much flying these days? I never managed to find out what you were up to after the dust settled when you nearly got thrown out of the air force.”

John resisted the urge to grit his teeth, he’d lose molars with the amount of force he wanted to put into clenching his jaw. Sheppard forced himself to sound casual,

“Oh yeah. I still get to fly.”

The conversation was still awkward, but the initial hostility seemed to have spent itself. Dave seemed to have finally remembered the months’ worth of bantering emails, and John’s efforts to get to know Bobbie and the kids despite the impossible distance separating them. (Though of course, Dave couldn’t fathom that the reason John was out of touch from ‘Peterson’ so frequently was that he lived a galaxy and a half away, not to mention the great incomprehensible vastness of the intergalactic void.)

It was only when the missile appeared in the porthole fifty minutes later that Sheppard realised anything was wrong with his plan.

***

“We need to bug out Shep!”

“I know!”

Sheppard was calm in the face of Cam’s backseat piloting; he knew this was no time for flathatting but displacement rolls simply weren’t cutting it. Beside him Dave was clutching at his seat armrests with a white-knuckled grip. John hoped he wouldn’t be sick, out of the corner of his eye he assessed how green his older brother looked. He gave up when another missile hurtled past overhead. John _just_ managed to avoid it with the Immelmann curve he teased out of the rattling little prop plane. That had been far too close.

“We’re a grape up here Shep!”

“Tell me about it!”

Another missile whizzed past. So, close the blowback from the rocket’s engines jostled the little plane. Sheppard pushed the little Cessna copy as far as it would go, for all that it looked like an upturned bug, the spaceship, whatever the _hell_ it was, was manoeuvrable, far more so than this little prop plane, and _fast_.

John risked a quick glance behind him, Rush was looking remarkably sanguine about the situation in the back. Vala was looking tense and focused, but Cam looked like he wanted to wrest the controls away and fly this bird himself.

John finally caught a better look at the spacecraft that was hassling them. Sheppard noted the gouges in the side of its hull, and longed to be in a puddlejumper, or hell the fly by instrument claustrophobia of a wraith dart would do, something that could _fight_ back. As it was all he could do was keep dodging, try to keep them out of line of sight, and hope that they managed to evade long enough for either backup or failing that, enough distance happened that they could make a run for it.

Sheppard snorted. Fat chance of that. It looked like he was going to be punching out of yet another aircraft that wasn’t his. Still, at least it wasn’t a multimillion-dollar USAF owned helo this time. Just this crappy little rental plane, held together with duct tape and spit.

One second Shep had eyes on the bogey, the next it had vanished. Literally. Crap, it had a cloak? What he would give for some decent tech right now. He pulled another Immelmann turn before dropping their altitude as quickly as he dared. They were miles from the nearest airbase, but if he could just get them -

***

They nearly made it.

If they hadn’t been flying a creaky little Cessna Skywagon knockoff, it would have worked, Cam knew it. Sheppard barked out in a harsh voice,

“Flight Control South Denver airfield be advised CX-398 is Bingo fuel.”

Crap they were running on fumes already? They hadn’t been up in the air that long. All those combat manoeuvres must have guzzled the gas like no tomorrow.

Sheppard pulled off one hell of a wingover in the boxy little plane, the full 180 across two axes left the _other_ Sheppard looking remarkably green. But from back where he was sat Cam was frustratingly in the dark about what the hell they were facing. He’d caught glimpses of some sort of anti-aircraft fire through the sliver of cockpit window Cam could see from back here. Maddeningly, Cam couldn’t make anything out in the small patch of sky afforded to him through the small porthole next to his seat. Worse, he couldn’t make his way up front to help either. He’d either break his neck during one of the insane manoeuvres Sheppard was coaxing out of the craft, or worse, he’d be a fatal distraction to the other pilot.

He shared a brief black glance with Vala, before the engine audibly sputtered to a halt. They didn’t drop out of the sky, but they were gliding. Despite some mad steering, given that they didn’t have an engine, the fifth damned missile had gotten the drop on them. Shep was forced into a steep dive, even having witnessed his fellow pilot’s best attempts at evasive manoeuvres earlier, Cam thought the attempt was dicey as all hell. The little plane was just too slow to outrun a goddamned rocket, with _cloaking_ technology. Let alone when it was running ballistic. Cam had no clue who was firing at them, or where the deadly things were coming from, but one thing was for sure. They were going down.

They crashed into the ground at an angle that left Cam’s brain rattling in his skull, there was another lurch and Cam knew no more.

***

The emergency landing was rough.

But they made it down intact. Ish.

John dragged Rush, and Dave out of the aircraft when it became obvious that neither of them quite grasped the severity of their situation.

“We need to get away from the wreck!”

“Johnny? Why?”

“Fire?” John’s tone was incredulous, he felt his voice rise in both pitch and volume as he continued, “Or how about the little fact that someone shot us down?!”

He bit back everything else he’d been about to say at the look on his brother’s face. He’d been channelling McKay more than a little there. As he moved over to help Vala get Mitchell out he caught his brother’s terse,

“I thought you were supposed to be a decent pilot.”

John did his best to ignore the accusation, as he moved over and released Mitchell’s unconscious form from the straps still holding him in his seat. Between himself and Dr Rush, who was being remarkably calm about the fact that they’d been forced down in the scrubby near desert surrounding Denver, they manhandled the limp pilot out of the plane. It looked mostly intact, ‘just’ a sheared off axle where the landing gear used to be, to speak of how rough the landing had been.

John turned and realised that a Jaffa was coming up behind them (he had to be a Jaffa with that brand in the centre of his forehead). Vala shot at him with a zat that she produced from nowhere; the Jaffa went down like a sack of bricks. Where the hell had he come from?! John dragged Mitchell the rest of the way out of the plane and pulled out his P-14 from its holster. Another Jaffa was coming around from the other side of the plane, John lined up a shot, the .45 went straight through the weak spot under the armpit

Ignoring Dave’s pale face John grabbed at his older brother and bodily dragged him away from the wreck,

“Come on! Help me with him. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

Between them they stumbled away from the plane, keeping an eye out for pursuit as they put as much distance between the plane and their little group as they could. John cursed, he only had his P-14 and the beretta with him. And only two spare clips. If this got dicey, they stood no chance.

***

A shadow appeared over them.

Looking up he realised that damned ship was back.

Must be a cloak of some kind.

It’s strange bug-like shape hovered ominously, even as they started to run.

There was a sudden bright light, harsh and sickening.

He bodily pushed Mitchell out of the path of the beam.

Rings crashed down around them.

The metal surrounded them like bizarre prison bars.

Next to him Vala Mal Doran was visibly panicking. Following her lead, he scrambled madly to get out of the cage. Rolling, he crashed painfully into the metal as it clanged down.

A flash of light.

A long moment of complete disorientation.

A gold room, hieroglyphs. The metal looked battered, oil stained, grimy with corrosion and general filth.

“Kree!”

They were surrounded on all sides.

Too many to fight through.

Screw this, he was going to try.

A blue flash.

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:
> 
> Charlie Foxtrot - USAF pilot speak for clusterfuck  
Chest Candy/Fruit Salad - medals  
Bingo - low fuel status  
Bug - exit a dogfight ASAP  
Grape - pilot who's easy to kill in a dogfight  
Punch Out - to eject from an airplane  
Spiked - missile threat on radar  
Queep - any duty that _isn't_ flight (usually paperwork)  
SNAFU - Situation Normal, All Fucked Up
> 
> I've gone with word of god (or writer's intent) with McKay's allergies rather than fanon here. Sorry to anyone who believes the allergies being real is a crucial bit of characterisation! But... Carson's eyeroll in response to Rodney wondering out loud if there's lemon in that lump of meat he's chewing on in The Rising really didn't speak to the allergy being serious!
> 
> The musical cipher to unlock the 9 chevron address is both a nod to CleanWhiteRoom's glorious Mathematique, and the Big Finish Stargate audioplays. One of which has Daniel unlocking a musical cipher of sorts! The Big Finish audios are great fun, they were fully licensed, and got both SG-1 and SGA castmembers in to alternately read out/act the stories (depending on whether it was a full cast production or not.)
> 
> I really hope this chapter worked - chapters 4 and 5 were both part of a deliberate, take a breath, here's some character work/let the characters tell their POVs and seed a few things for later, section before the plot properly gets going... There's a transition or two that I remain unsure of, but... If I kept fiddling it would literally have been next year before it got posted, likely not much improved either.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conspiracy against the Tau'ri unfurls... Attacks across multiple fronts, kidnappings, an invasion, a spacebattle, a bomb... Amidst it all, who, or what, is the primary target?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this chapter took a while! As will shortly become obvious, this one is pretty plot dense and took quite a bit more polishing than usual in order to make sure I’d kept everything straight.
> 
> I suspect there's a 50/50 chance that people will either love/hate this chapter - mwahaha!
> 
> As always, this thing is unbetaed, so if you spot any particularly glaring errors please feel free to point them out.
> 
> Thanks everyone for the kind reviews and feedback. (And grateful thanks to the 60+ subscribers/followers of this thing – I hope you continue to enjoy this thing as it moves into the next section of plot!)

** Chapter 6: **

** **

Greer pulled gate room guard duty that morning, a job typical of the old hurry up and wait that took up so damned much time in the military. It mixed long periods of mind-numbing dullness, with pants-wetting moments of complete terror. He’d been given the task of periodically sweeping the gate room with a Geiger counter; the Lucian Alliance had managed to sneak a bomb with a naquadria payload onto an off-world base. It’d been pure chance that stopped the thing detonating. As it was, a few people had gotten irradiated from what Greer’d heard.

It was a real SNAFU, that all this should come down on the day they had a boatload of VIP bigwigs on base. Greer damn near rolled his eyes at the attitude of the civvies; apparently the extra checkpoint measures had _not_ gone down well with their guests.

The scheduled off world activation alarm sounded, Teal’c and Master Bra’tac appeared, silhouetted in the event horizon. There was some negotiation going down today between the Free Jaffa Nation and the IOA; something about the giant death ray sat all innocent-like at Dakara.

Greer kept a close eye on the goings on in the room, even as the light of the wormhole winked out to nothingness; it was probably the most interesting thing that was gonna happen for the next few hours. SG-2 were due out on an escort mission to those Naquadah mines later - Colonel Edwards’ guys were getting new blood to keep things friendly with the Unas the SGC were employing to dig it all out.

Despite the ominous crackle from the radiation detector, everything seemed normal. No alarming spikes into the red, nada. When Greer refocused on their allies, rather than scoping out potential threats, Bra’tac was greeting Landry, all friendly,

“Ah General Landry, I was sorry to hear about Hammond of Texas. I feel he would have thought the new Tau’ri vessel a fitting tribute.”

Bra’tac looked genuinely saddened, it clearly wasn’t just the usual diplomatic BS the higher ups tended to say by rote. Landry shifted on his feet, voice rougher than usual, he gravely agreed,

“Yes… Yes, he will be missed.”

“Indeed.”

Greer watched from the corner of his eye as Colonel Dixon entered the gate room, as far as Ronald knew the guy wasn’t due off world any time soon. He wasn’t a diplomat or nothing either, so he didn’t have a clue why the colonel was there. The touchy colonel had been running his mouth lately about Sheppard; everyone noticed the uptick in ol’ Dixon’s bitching post-foothold-exercise. Greer wondered vaguely if the fool was going to do it in front of the major players. It was one thing to indulge in locker room talk, another to do it where the brass could hear. Ronald kept an interested eye on the conversation as Bra’tac continued to talk about bigwig crap with Landry,

“Ah yes the Jaffa in Yu’s old territories have finally entered into negotiations with us, I hope that one day all Jaffa shall be united in peace.”

The thing happened so fast. Ronald didn’t have time to stop it.

Dixon finally stopped talking to the SF by the door, turned to face the ring, and changed. His facial expression rippled, going from joking laughter to the rictus of a madman. Greer saw it all unfold as if in slow motion. As soon as Dixon spotted Bra’tac he went for him. Twitchily, as if he was fighting himself the whole way - the big colonel reached for his sidearm and shot.

It was only the way the guy jerkily fired that stopped him taking down more than one person. His aim weaved all over the place. Teal’c pushed the older Jaffa aside, it probably saved the Jaffa leader from taking a headshot. Bra’tac took a hit to the upper right quadrant and went down, hard. Teal’c got between Bra’tac and the colonel.

Greer rushed the colonel, grabbing the gun as Dixon went to raise it from the twisted spasm he’d collapsed into. The next minute was full of panicked wrestling. Greer finally got Dixon in a classic arm twist hold. The gun skittered across the gate room floor, settling out of reach underneath the ramp.

Ron couldn’t have heard what came out of Dixon’s mouth,

“Stop me!”

Landry bellowed for a medic.

Dixon struggled like a wild thing. In the end, Greer sat on him so he couldn’t do himself too bad an injury, thrashing as he was. With the way he’d gone off on one of their allies like that, Ronald wasn’t sure Dixon deserved the consideration.

Teal’c was busy stemming the blood gushing from Bra’tac’s shoulder. Crap, it didn’t look good. Medics rushed in.

To Greer’s quiet relief Colonel Edwards came in, he helped with restraining the prisoner - producing a pair of plastic cuffs. Edwards got Dixon into them with minimum fuss. Dixon was straining fit to pop a blood vessel, Edwards leaned down and hissed in his ear,

“I may be pretty as an angel, but I sure as hell ain’t one. Give over son.”

With eyes still roving crazily Dixon settled down, though it may have had more to do with the firm biting grip Edwards had on the other colonel’s jaw than any real concession on the crazy’s part,

“Thanks Colonel.”

Edwards’ shot Greer a tight grin, even as he magically produced enough restraints to truss Dixon up like a turkey,

“I’m Mary Poppins y’all.”

Landry, apparently satisfied that Bra’tac was going to be alright, now Lam and co were gently getting him up onto a gurney, turned to their little party of three,

“What the _hell_ was that Colonel?! I’ll have you thrown into the deepest darkest hole in Gitmo, you’ll never see daylight again! I _order_ you to stand down!”

Dixon was groaning and twitching. If his hands weren’t cuffed behind him, Greer was sure he’d be clutching his head. The colonel’s eyes were glazed with confusion, senselessly roving around the room. Through lips flecked with spittle, Dixon got going on a rant that made no goddamn sense,

“You know what the chain of command is? It's the chain I go get and beat you with 'til ya understand who's in ruttin' command here. Now we're finishing this deal…” to Greer’s alarm veins were beginning to pop out on the guy’s temples. Dixon began to hyperventilate,”…and then maybe, maybe we'll come back for those morons who got themselves caught. You can't change that by getting all... bendy.”

Teal’c, preparing to escort Bra’tac’s journey down to the infirmary paused. He sounded worried, well, as worried as the big warrior ever got,

“General Landry, the circumstances are remarkably similar to those when Martouf of the Tok’ra was killed.”

Landry paled. Edwards swore bitterly, and kicked at Dixon’s trussed up form,

“You like a professional asshole or what? Not again. It was bad enough the first couple of times.”

Greer stared blankly, as Landry agreed with Edwards who, still muttering threats, roughly hauled a still crazily jerking Dixon to his feet,

“We never did develop a reliable method of detecting… or breaking the conditioning.” Voice flat, Landry continued, “I genuinely thought this was behind us.” He sighed, looking like a tired old man he muttered, “We’ve lost too many good people to this. Damn. Who the hell do you think’s using it this time?”

A second later Greer got it. Crap, this was just like the worst-case scenario in that training course. Greer never thought he’d be grateful he’d gone through that charade; he was now. Dixon must have been brainwashed. Was it Nish’ta, or worse, was he a Za’tarc?

Odds were good the answer was Za’tarc, from the way he’d just gone full crazy as soon as he spotted Master Bra’tac.

Lam hustled over and busied herself strapping Dixon into a restraining gurney.

“Doctor Lam, will Master Bra’tac recover?”

“He’ll be fine Teal’c. The bullet missed the nerve bundle, and his collarbone. Our best trauma surgeon is already working, and Holden from orthopaedics is scrubbing in.”

As she strapped Dixon into the five-point restraints on the gurney Lam ran an assessing eye over him,

“Is this what I think it is?”

Landry replied darkly,

“Yeah Carolyn, I’m afraid it is.”

Greer watched from his post as the whole messy procession filed out of the gate room.

** **

*******

There’d been noise and pain, then darkness and light. And now he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling like he’d hacked up a lung. O’Neill sucked in a couple of cautious breaths and when it didn’t feel like he was going to be coughing up what remained of his oesophageal lining anytime soon, tried to work out what the hell just happened.

He’d been in his office. O’Neill was stuck behind a desk heading up Homeworld Command these days; it wasn’t really what he wanted to do with his time, but Jack was self-aware enough to know that his fieldwork days were behind him. The knees, it was _always_ the knees.

Speaking of which, O’Neill took stock. Nothing _seemed_ to be hurting, well, no worse than usual.

Awkwardly levering himself to his feet, Jack cautiously looked around, it was as if the building had collapsed on top of him. There was thick dust everywhere, hanging in the air, staining what little light there was nicotine brown, and coating every surface. It almost looked like some of the digs Danny tended to get excited about. With a sigh of nostalgia, that he immediately regretted as it felt like he’d breathed in the entirety of the Nevada Desert during a sandstorm, O’Neill carefully tried to get the lay of the land. Whilst Jack’s office looked mostly intact, just beyond the pane of glass, or rather the space where the pane of glass etched with a star map _used to be_, was chaos.

Steel girders had collapsed down from the floors above, punching through the office space like cocktail sticks stabbed into a cheese hedgehog by an unambitious dinner host – woah, okay, not good. He was feeling loopy. Concussion maybe? Jack hoped it _wasn’t_ a concussion, he’d had more than his fair share of them over the years. The docs kept warning him about post-concussion syndrome.

There was a scraping noise in the office beyond, O’Neill whipped out the Beretta he still carried everywhere, desk job or not, and cautiously made his way towards the source. The thick choking dust covered everything out here too, visibility was shot. Still, amongst the shallower bits of rubble there was-

“Oh, for crying out loud! Davis is that you?”

Davis looked as beleaguered as Jack had ever seen him, and that included the time everyone was stuck hanging from the ceiling in those alien pods,

“General?”

The major blinked owlishly at him out of a face rendered unrecognisable by dint of being coated in dirt. Davis looked very much the worse for wear. The usually neat officer’s uniform was torn and dirty, his previously brown hair, now grey with dust, stuck up in strange tufts. The left-side of his head was covered in blood. Despite Davis’s feeble protests O’Neill made a quick assessment and realised it was coming from a scalp wound, not his ear as Jack initially feared. Shit, on the one hand all that blood was slightly less worrying. On the other, another head injury. O’Neill tried for dry,

“Is it just me or is there a disaster zone in the middle of my office?”

Davis looked puzzled for a long _long_ moment, before turning, and spotting the girders. If the situation weren’t so dire, O’Neill might have chuckled at the stunned disbelief on the other man’s face,

“I -I don’t know what happened sir.”

O’Neill covered up the worry, despite Jack’s stated opinion of the man during their rocky beginnings, Davis was usually a sharp one. He sarcastically asked,

“Davis, why haven’t you been promoted to Homeworld yet?”

Major Davis’s reply was dry, “I don’t know sir.”

O’Neill had been hoping for something more definitive on the diagnosis front, still eyeing the Major he mused,

“Yunno Davis, it’s a good thing this is the _new_ office, and not the Pentagon department.”

“Sir?”

“Imagine all the additional bathrooms we’d have to navigate around.” O’Neill gave a theatrical shudder, “All that broken plumbing.”

“Yessir.”

Davis sounded amused. _Finally_, something more alive than stunned blankness.

“Let’s go see what we can see, shall we?”

“Yes sir. But-“

Jack couldn’t hold back the impatience any longer,

“But what Major?! There may be wounded men out there! For crying out loud! We need to get them help, we need to get _us_ help.”

Davis had on that irritating ‘Appeasing Batshit Jack’ face,

“Uh, yes sir, of course sir. I wasn’t arguing otherwise.”

“Then what?!”

“I was going to suggest that we dig out the Geiger counter first sir.” Davis nodded significantly towards the vague shape of the scientific station, still just about visible in the gloom, “I’d like to know what we’re walking towards sir.”

The low grade clicking that had been going on the whole time they’d been talking finally registered,

“Yes, yes of course Major. Well done.”

Jack belatedly remembered the morning’s memo about radiation. Crap. His head injury must be worse than he’d thought, he was snappish and irrational. _Davis,_ of all people, was being the voice of common sense. They’d _both_ been there for the briefing about the increased Lucian Alliance threat.

“Let’s go Major”

Having checked that no one else was buried in the bullpen, O’Neill started making his way along the hallway. Beside him Davis held out the worryingly clicking Geiger counter, Jack had to keep reminding himself, the noise was _normal. _Even in the middle of nowhere that thing would be going off. Jack only hoped the precaution would prove unnecessary, just the usual healthy paranoia whenever a new government department was being set up.

Somehow, Jack had a sinking feeling that wouldn’t be the case.

***

Eugene Bates was being shot at.

To be honest, it wasn’t that different from his day to day.

But he _hadn’t_ expected to end up in a firefight whilst he was queuing for coffee and his breakfast burrito at the local café. (They did fantastic shrimp and grits with red eye gravy too, but he didn’t indulge that craving too often. That stuff was a one-way ticket to a coronary.)

He ducked down behind the counter and tried to work out where the shots were coming from.

There!

Across the street there was a flash.

He ducked down, and slipped along the serving space, hoping there weren’t any other shooters.

Bates sprang to his feet and re-sighted the target. Yeah definitely his guy.

What the hell. From this distance it was difficult to make out, but the shooter looked like he was wearing standard US military gear.

The retort from his Beretta was deafening in the enclosed space.

The bullets that wracked the little eating place with holes and shattered not only the windows, but the glass fronted display cabinets, sending customers sprawling to the ground in panic, stopped.

Hesitantly Bates’s fellow commuters started clambering to their feet.

Too late to do any good, the red and blue lights of the cops came tearing down the street. Bates pre-emptively dug out his credentials, put his gun down (but within reach), and prepared to talk his way out of being shot by trigger happy law enforcement. Sometimes this job really sucked, he hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet, and now he had to deal with the fact that he’d just shot someone in broad daylight. In front of witnesses. As a black man.

All around him staff and patrons of the little mom and pop store were cautiously surveying the damage. Half of them looked grateful that he’d stopped the shooting. The other half were shooting _him_ fearful looks. Bates heaved a sigh.

A nervous looking deputy moseyed his way over, bright silver badge glinting from the gun belt looped over his brown uniform pants. From the hesitance the guy showed even walking in the door, Bates could tell it was going to be a hell of a job clearing all this up.

“Agent Bates, IOA, here are my credentials.”

***

“Ah, yes Colonel Telford is back from leave after the …accident off world gave him a relapse.”

Hank sighed, a _relapse_. A terrible euphemism for terrible injuries incurred during what could only be described as a massacre. Thirty-seven personnel dead, Colonel Young the only survivor. Telford wracked with guilt when he realised, he’d gotten bad intel and broken his cover too late…

Something about the skirmish near Doctor Rush’s DHD must have triggered a flashback, though damned if Landry could work out what it could possibly have been. The only upside to the whole sorry situation was that Telford had clawed his way back from whatever corner of his mind he’d ended up in, and they’d gotten the information they wanted from the DHD _before_ the Lucian Alliance had shown up and nearly destroyed the gate. As they _hadn’t_ done with their little experiment, despite Rush’s cautious warnings. They hadn’t thought to guard against outright attack.

That was the sixth chevron now if Hank was counting right. Three more to go.

Ever since the chaos in the gate room this morning, Hank had been double guessing his interactions with Colonel Dixon going back months. How long had his colonel been a Za’tarc? Could Landry have spotted changes in the man’s personality if he’d paid more attention? Aside from the shocking attempt on Bra’tac’s life, had Dixon done anything _else_ under the influence? Was he a Za’tarc at all? Or was it just a convenient excuse to explain away how not a one of them had spotted the man’s issues until he’d cracked spectacularly?

No, Teal’c seemed pretty convinced on that front. The Jaffa was the closest thing they had to an expert. Landry flinched as bad memories from Vietnam reared up out of the dark, the way the man had been _fighting_ himself.

It had been years since this sort of thing had been an issue, quite literally. The Goa’uld brainwashing technology hadn’t reared its terrifying head since long before Hank had taken up this command. They’d _never_ found a reliable detection method. Landry _couldn’t_ countenance the Rite of M’al Sharran that Teal’c was calling for, they’d lost too many men to the brutal method of breaking the conditioning. Yet, they _desperately_ needed to find out what Dixon had done.

With a sinking feeling, Hank realised the last thing he’d talked to Dixon about had been getting Sheppard and Mitchell off base…

Ominously the red phone rang.

Dread trickled down Landry’s spine. He wasn’t due anything today.

Hank stared at the trilling landline for a moment, he shook himself and picked up the handset. Landry paled at the news relayed from Washington DC.

Someone had attacked Homeworld Command.

It was a good job he was already sitting down.

The harried voice at the other end of the line rattled off the dreadful news.

Homeworld’s new location had been half destroyed. They didn’t know if it was a bomb, or a gas leak or...

There were dozens of personnel unaccounted for.

Unconfirmed preliminary reports were that a Tel’tak had been spotted in DC moments before the attack.

The whole site was being evacuated.

Hank felt every year of his age.

Jack was there. He’d been heading up the transfer from the quiet corner of the Pentagon Homeworld had previously been skulking in. Nothing was confirmed, people were still being evacuated, yet that sinking feeling was back. Hank tiredly rubbed at his eyes as the news continued to come in, most of the people unaccounted for so far were high level personnel.

First Dixon, now this.

When it rained it poured, alright.

Well, he _had_ just been wondering what to do with Telford now he was back on duty. Hank hated to do this to the man, but on account of needing to be out of the field, Telford _was_ their current Washington liaison.

“Walter!”

A few moments later the familiar balding head appeared in the doorway,

“Yessir?”

“Fetch Colonel Telford, would you? We’ve got a situation at Homeworld.”

Since Hank was needed at the Pentagon anyway, he’d send in Telford as his right-hand man on the ground. There was a knock at the door,

“Ah! David, that was quick. Good good. No don’t come in, I need you to come to DC with me, we’ve got a situation. I’ll brief you on the way.”

“Yessir.”

***

Wormhole Xtreme had just been renewed for a 6th season, Marty was ecstatic,

“Hey! Guess what Steve? We have a go!” Marty continued to march down the halls, “Yeah, yeah! Renewed! Looks like we’re going to be able to do that alien living on Earth plotline after all! I know right? Maybe we’ll even be able to do that Lost City thing we’ve been seeding in.”

People glared at Marty as he continued loudly updating his co-producer about the good news. He gestured at them; he was on the phone here! Talking important business! He’d just gotten to the administrative wing of the studio when the men in black jumped him,

“Wha-? Um hey guys. This isn’t cool.”

Marty looked up at the two soldiers manhandling him down the hall.

They always scoffed and said he was paranoid. Then stuff like this happened!

Marty tried to stall, back peddling his legs as they pushed him towards the side door,

“What’s going on? Is this about the plot arc for season six? I swear, we renegotiated with Ray Gunne, Doctor Levant is coming back next season! I know it’s fantastical that anyone could survive that, but, well, the ancestorials solve _everything_! Deus ex amiright?”

Martin peered up at the bulky men frogmarching him along,

“It is isn’t it? I’m sorry but yet another evil parasitic crab would have just been unbelievable!”

The men quite literally in black shoved Marty into soundstage four – the space they were currently converting into sets for the new alien threat, the _evil_ _Imitators_! Marty wasn’t convinced by the blocky Lego-like design the prop guys had come up with for the monsters, but hey, it was better than the tacky Aztec theme for the Crab Gods.

With a crashing noise, the blocky sets collapsed in a gratifyingly loud crunch of expanded foam crumpling. More men, this time in military green, burst through the set-walls and shot the men in black surrounding him.

Martin fell forward to the floor of the soundstage, thank god for studio security,

“Thanks guys! I don’t know what their problem was.”

“That’s alright Mr Lloyd, we’re just here to keep you safe.”

“Yeah, some fans are just so... extreme, yunno?” Marty scoffed, “Look at them, their costumes aren’t even right. I’ve seen better things at the conventions.”

***

“Colonel Carter, a Ha’tak just dropped out of hyperspace. It’s approaching our position.”

Internally Sam cursed. Dammit, no one else should have been out here. There was nothing worth stopping for in this solar system, which was overly near a Pulsar. That’s why they’d chosen it to give the engines a chance to idle and run diagnostics whilst stress testing the shields. This was more than just bad luck; they were _far_ too close to the proposed Icarus site for comfort. It had taken _years_ to find that world. Keeping the worry out of her voice, Carter asked,

“Any radio contact?”

“None ma’am.” Marks replied.

Carter nervily made a last-minute status check. That had been the whole point of this pit stop after all. Systems were almost certainly in the green, but Sam doublechecked anyway. She read the summarized data off the command console even as she asked,

“Shield status?”

“Full power, running at 99% projected efficiency.” Came the immediate response.

“Excellent, Major Marks ready weapons.”

Carter wouldn’t give the order to fire first, that wasn’t how the Tau’ri operated. However, given it was likely pirates or worse, it wouldn’t hurt to have everyone ready.

“Yes Ma’am.”

The proximity alarm blared. The officer manning the pilot’s station groaned,

“Ma’am!” That was Captain Kleinman, after years manning the weapons console on the Daedalus, he was an old hand at this, “Five more Ha’taks just dropped out of hyperspace. They’re boxing us in.”

Before Sam could decide whether to negotiate, enter hostilities, or make a tactical retreat, the weapons alarm blared shrilly. The shield flared up, the light of the energy attenuating across the usually invisible barrier strobed nauseatingly through the bridge. Carter bit back her outrage, they’d opened fire without even opening a channel.

“Ready the Asgard beam. Marks, prepare to manoeuvre us away, we can’t afford to stay boxed in.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The Goa’uld weaponry barely made a dent in the shields, even after the other Ha’taks joined in and the weapons fire ramped up to a six against one barrage. The bridge was almost permanently lit by the sickly yellow glow shining through from outside, the effect was eery. Everyone looked jaundiced. 

A long moment later a message came through. The staticky image on the communications screen cut in and out; the familiar signal snow that had become uncommon on TV broadcasts on Earth, a perpetual problem out here across the vast distances of space. Carter figured the interference from the energy blasts striking the shield accounted for most of it.

Sneering at the ignorance of their attackers, Sam manually adjusted the scanning frequency until the image resolved into something understandable. A stern looking woman dressed entirely in leather, reminding Sam uncomfortably of those vampire films, with the starlet doing improbable acrobatics in a corset, appeared on the viewscreen. She looked callous. Even with the dubious image clarity, her dead eyes promised cruelty,

“Time is short, and I’ll be brief. This is Commander Kiva of the Lucian Alliance. Surrender at once Tau’ri vessel and prepare to be boarded. This is your only warning.”

Warning!

Sam almost laughed scornfully, there had been _no_ warning. This was an unprovoked attack.

Carter figured the cold woman was more dangerous than anyone in the branches of the Alliance they’d previously encountered. There was a calm about her that Netan always lacked. For all his posturing, the would-be leader had a weak grasp of his subordinates, let alone the rival Houses.

Ignoring the cold sweat that broke out, Sam responded in an equally brusque manner, projecting self-assured confidence for all she was worth. Holy Hannah! She’d wiped out the Asuran threat and held fast against the Wraith for more than a year with minimal support. Goa’uld tech was notoriously poorly engineered, the _Hammond_ was a state-of-the-art BC-304, this should be child’s play in comparison,

“Commander Kiva. This is Colonel Samantha Carter, Commander of the Earth vessel _USS George Hammond_. Cease hostilities at once or you will be fired upon.”

Kiva smiled cruelly in response. Sam cut the message. The shields continued to cast their sickly glow, punctuated with blinding pulses from the Goa’uld energy weapons. Carter turned to her XO, and decisively issued orders,

“Take out the Hyperdrives of the nearest Ha’taks, Major. Use our upgraded Asgard beam weapons. It’s not exactly a Wraith hive ship… But they’re similarly bloated. We need to send this Kiva a message.”

He nodded,

“Yes ma’am.”

The Asgard beam burned through the inefficient shields of the first Ha’tak. The crippled mothership started venting atmosphere immediately. The second shot missed, the targeted ship dodged, due to some fancy piloting. 

The first Ha’tak inexorably lurched out of formation, thanks to the uncontrollable extra thrust from the gaping holes in its hull, and the momentum from the beam weapon tearing through it. It drifted directly into the path of another member of its own fleet. The great bulk of the crippled ship smashed spectacularly into the superstructure of its fellow.

Sam watched the chaos that unfolded with no little satisfaction, they’d thrown off their enemy’s plans.

Two of the motherships that had been firing weapons were forced into evasive action to avoid joining in the collision. In the resulting scrum, the _Hammond_ took out another Ha’tak with the Asgard beam. They must have hit something more critical. The resulting shockwave knocked their (and hopefully everyone else’s) sensors out for a few key seconds.

Eyes watering from the blinding flash the clear Trinium viewport only _just_ attenuated to non-harmful levels, Carter fruitlessly tried to make out what was happening. Even if she hadn’t been squinting through afterimages, Sam knew it was useless, but the instinct was difficult to override. At these distances, it was fly by instrument, or nothing. Gritting her teeth at the gamble, Sam ordered Kleinman to evade. Hopefully getting out of the plane of the ecliptic would take them away from the solar system and the battle,

“Take us out of the orbital plane Captain! We need to get away from the epicentre.”

Kleinman nodded tightly. His hands danced over the navigation console, without further explanation needed. Sam pressed her lips together tightly as they waited out the sensor blackout. This was an untested ship; their shakedown cruise should not have been this harsh a test of their systems.

The sensors finally stuttered back online. They were still boxed in, though her gamble had bought them some much needed space to manoeuvre.

With intergalactic hyperdrives to rely on, the Asgard hadn’t put more thought into their sub-light engines than anyone else, they were still using Hebridan ionic sublights, the _Hammond_ wouldn’t outpace the Goa’uld ships this way. They were trapped in a dangerously full sector of space; too close to the Ha’taks, let alone the gravity wells of the three gas giants that orbited the star. It was simply too risky to jump whilst they were being fired upon, they might end up in the same system as that damned Pulsar and its deadly bursts of radiation. That stress test that seemed like such a good idea, felt like folly.

The other motherships got cautious after the spectacular explosion. Unfortunately, the beam weapons were still energy hogs. Even now, after a few years to study the Asgard core, a lot of their technology was frustratingly opaque. There were simply too many ships to take out with Asgard tech alone. Between the deliberately long shakedown cruise, and the nearby Pulsar, the _Hammond_ was already at risk of running into reserves intended for the journey home.

This long-distance run to test the hyperdrives against several dense gravity wells hadn’t been intended to be a test of the _Hammond’s_ weapons systems too. Sam stared in frustration as the Goa’uld weaponry impacted against the shield. The railguns were proving as ineffective as ever. Beam weaponry was out. The other ships were trying to herd them. The velocities they were traveling at were nearly incomprehensible and yet…

And yet.

Sam flicked from the command view to Marks’ screen and eyed the tactical map. She quickly ran a few velocity calculations in her head, watching the way the Ha’taks deftly avoided the rail gun volleys they’d been reduced to. Their inefficient shielding wasn’t that effective, so the ships were dodging the high velocity slugs. The Tau’ri persisted with the relatively low-tech weaponry, since on the rare occasions they _actually_ managed to make contact, both Goa’uld Hat’aks and Wraith Hiveships were vulnerable against the high velocity slugs.

There wasn’t much that could stand up to a ballistic lump of metal moving at an appreciable fraction of the speed of light.

Sam concentrated, trying to see the pattern.

Something about the way the largest of the remaining Ha’taks was manoeuvring…

There!

That pilot kept jinking the Ha’tak –

“Major Marks fire a prolonged rail gun burst at vector 60 by 48 by 17 on my mark. Then immediately resume the previous bombardment pattern.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Mark!”

He looked puzzled as the guns fired towards seemingly empty space. Sam waited with bated breath, the crew manning the workstations around her continued to communicate with the engineering deck. Simultaneously the _Hammond_ was trying to manoeuvre away from the kill-box, and fire high velocity slugs at the remaining Ha’taks.

Approximately 45 seconds later the furthest of the motherships dodged the computer calculated pattern of bombardment from _The Hammond… _and flew straight into the cloud of super-accelerated metal that Sam had ordered out into seemingly empty space moments earlier,

“Good work Major.”

Marks nodded tightly at her, even as his hands flew over the console, inputting the orders to trigger the next firing pattern, he looked impressed.

On the tactical screen it was obvious they hadn’t hit anything immediately critical. But the Ha’tak was eliminated from the fight. It moved sluggishly, the barrage of energy blasts it had been spouting eased markedly. Sam watched with grim satisfaction as the ship was inexorably pulled into an unstable orbit around the nearest gas giant. Within a few hours the other vessel would burn up in the planet’s thick atmosphere. If it was as crippled as it appeared to their sensors, maybe sooner; the vessel’s shield was only registering half the time.

The rest of the battle should have been similarly one-sided. Despite the swarm of Death Gliders emerging from the remaining motherships, there should have been nothing in the scavenged Goa’uld tech the Alliance relied on that could threaten the _Hammond_. The odds had turned from six to one to three to one within the space of a few minutes. The Daedalus-class vessel boasted the latest in hybrid Tau’ri/Asgard technology.

Yet, with three Ha’taks out of the fight, something went terribly wrong.

“Ma’am!” Captain Kleinman’s voice was panicked, “The primary shield generator just blew!”

“What?! How?”

“No idea! Shields were holding at 94% efficiency. Nothing impacted the hull.”

Sam exchanged a look with Major Marks, “Sabotage.”

On cue the communications station lit up,

“This is Commander Kiva of the Lucian Alliance.” The woman looked horribly smug, “Tau’ri vessel, prepare to be boarded.”

***

Walter sat down at the gate controls with a sigh; Telford had taken the news and his orders… calmly. Which was more than he could say for General Landry when the senior officer had gotten the news about Homeworld. Then again, Chief Master Sergeant Harriman was feeling damned anxious himself. Whilst the General was in transit more news kept rolling in - the missing list was down to half a dozen personnel. Of course, to no one’s great surprise, O’Neill was among them.

The sudden blare of the sirens made him jump, they always did.

Damn, they did say this kind of thing came in threes.

“Unscheduled off world activation!”

Harriman’s shout accompanied the alarm. The LT on duty ordered,

“Close the iris.”

Harriman resisted the urge to scoff, he’d been in the process of doing so before the junior officer had started talking,

“The.. The iris _will not close_ sir!”

To Walter’s horror, as well as the anticipated invaders, _something_ shot out through the open wormhole. It was déjà vu. The damned thing looked just like a wraith grenade. In the stunned moment of ‘oh shit!’ a shrill tone emitted from the sphere. The marines who’d been lining up in the gate room visibly reacted to the sound. Walter gazed down in horror as men started viciously fighting each other in the room below.

That’s when the heavily armed people dressed in leather appeared in the event horizon.

“Clear the gate room!” Ignoring the useless LT, he turned to the nearest airman and ordered, “Get up to the maintenance levels and turn on the emergency quarantine system!”

The airman saluted, “Yessir!”

“Hurry man!”

In the gate room below people were streaming through the open wormhole, Colonel Edwards, and Colonel Coburn & SG-2 were trapped down there. As the blast shields ponderously shut, Walter watched in horror as Coburn went down to the unmistakeable blue flare of zat fire. Was that one shot, or two?

Harriman continued bellowing desperate instructions, ordering a Force Recon team to hold the corridors to the gate room. Evacuating personnel from level 28. He keyed in the gate room lockdown code and hoped to god he was doing the right thing. The LT beside him was still panicking, Walter had never felt so impotent in his life, ordering men to what he knew was probably certain death.

Some days he hated the responsibility that came with his E-9 rank.

At this rate he’d be back to chugging Pepto Bismol straight out of the bottle again.

The people on duty in the mountain were all that stood between Earth and the invaders, whoever the hell they were. Harriman cued up the alarm to evacuate all non-combat personnel from the base, as the L.T. frantically shouted more orders above the din,

“Get those people out of there!”

Walter shot the incredibly young L.T. a worried look, “Sir, we’re going to work this out.”

Walter could only hope that Doc Lam would obey the civilian evacuation alarm. Despite the way those in the know probably thought it was nepotism, the base’s chief medical officer had more than earnt her placement at the SGC. Landry’s daughter was a dedicated doctor, a competent surgeon and able to make diagnoses other medical professionals would struggle to believe. Sighing, Walter continued to order the Force Recon teams into the Mu Formation, they’d all rehearsed for scenarios just like this over and over. He could only hope all that practice would pay off.

***

Teyla found the city of San Francisco beautiful, and terrible in its sheer size. So many souls pressed together in such a small space. Even Ronon, native of Sateda, that great metropolis of Pegasus, was disquieted by the sheer excess of the place. Worse, according to John and Rodney, San Francisco wasn’t considered particularly large. There were cities on this world with populations more than ten times the number here. Teyla pushed down the urge to gape at the densely packed mass of humanity, even the attraction of Earth’s wonderous markets had palled in the face of such extreme culture shock.

Teyla was grateful that she had left Torren safely with his father in Atlantis, the busy shopping street was no place for a child. The throng around her squeezed in, becoming nearly unbearable. Teyla had no idea how the people of this planet coped, if every meeting place was this crowded. She was due to reconvene with Dr Jackson at the other end of the busy shopping street; however, the crowd had swollen so that an already bustling street, became nearly impassable.

A hand landed heavily on Teyla’s shoulder. She pushed down the reflexive response, which was to catch the offending limb, and twist until it snapped. Teyla turned an inquiring look at the mountain of a man looming over her, as she found herself forcibly turned around, she realised that what she had taken for an example of Earther rudeness was a deliberate hemming in.

Teyla was surrounded by five men, all wearing identical black and white outfits, the thin multi-layered affairs that Rodney called zoots? No, _suits_. Even on a world as thoroughly alien as this, Teyla knew this behaviour could not bode well,

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

Over her years as leader of the Athosians, Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan, had long since learnt the value of waiting for the other side to act first. It was not… nice, however the strategic benefit of allowing the other group to be seen to be the aggressor was frequently invaluable.

“Alien scum!”

The loud slur carried across the sidewalk. People turned to watch.

They did not even pretend to have a lawful reason for their conduct. There was no cry of ‘police’, or ‘you are under arrest’, and certainly no offer to show her their credentials. (Teyla had watched much of the Earther entertainment the Lanteans had brought with them over the years. In particular, a show set in Baltimore, called ‘The Wire’. She had paid close attention during the Stargate Command briefings to know how these things were supposed to go.) The largest man merely started to drag her down the sidewalk.

“The boss lady will be happy to have her. Alien genetics. She’s always on the hunt for new genetic stock.”

Much as she disliked acting this role, Teyla decided to borrow from Rodney. She mentally whispered an apology to her teammate; Doctor McKay was brave _despite_ his fears, Teyla had long since learnt to admire that about the man. They did not often acknowledge it, but Rodney frequently displayed true courage. An image of John, smirking that inappropriate lopsided smile of his, flashed before her eyes, even as she opened her mouth,

“Help! Help! I’m being kidnapped!”

It was a passable impression of the panic Doctor McKay usually put into his cries for help. Instead of coming to her aid, the people surrounding this little ambush started running. A clear space opened around her; the looming men threateningly reached for the primitive little metal slinging guns that the Earthers favoured.

The retort of the crude weapon firing was deafening in the valley created by the buildings that shaped the street. Teyla ducked out of the way in time, a civilian to the side was not so lucky. The screaming started.

Enough of this charade.

She needed to ensure the bystander was alright. Guilt flashed through her, if she had only acted sooner. It was quickly quashed in favour of focusing on the here and now. Teyla subtly shifted her stance, lowering her centre of gravity and flexing on the balls of her feet. She rushed the man who had fired the rudimentary projectile weapon.

Teyla snatched the gun and kicked his feet out from under him in one deft move. She ejected the magazine, and emptied the chamber, before dropping the now useless components of the weapon to the ground.

As one the thugs moved in.

Ten minutes later, still in the clear circle of space afforded by the, frankly cowardly, people in this market, the men who had tried to take her against her will were all on the floor. Unconscious. Teyla had not struck any of them particularly hard, there would be no serious injuries to attend to, nor broken bones to reset.

The blue lights that signified law enforcement on the Lantean home world drew close. Too late to help. Teyla hoped they had enough clarity to see that she was not the aggressor in this unfortunate encounter.

In a small miracle, given how crowded the street was, the wounded bystander had only been grazed by the bullet. The man was effusively thanking her for saving his life, even as the other civilians in the area surveyed Teyla with no small amount of suspicion.

To Teyla’s relief the familiar voice of the Earther archaeologist was just about recognisable over the much quieter bustle of the crowd,

“Let me through, I can help!”

Daniel Jackson reappeared; heavy sacks loaded down with dozens of books in both hands. Immediately, the scientist who was so fascinated by the Atlantis database stepped in to smooth things over with the locals. Teyla did not express her relief with anything more than a raised eyebrow, and a mildly accusatory tilt of her head. Doctor Jackson seemed to understand the message anyway.

***

Ronald was about to tuck into lunch, a plate of lemon chicken, when it happened. The unscheduled off-world activation alarm blared loudly. Moments later, the altogether more …_alarming_ sound of the civilian evacuation alarm started blasting. The distinctive clang of blast doors sliding shut, as everything but the designated evacuation routes sealed themselves, added another frisson of fear to the suddenly tense atmosphere.

All around him personnel filed out of the cafeteria, civilians heading topside, military hurrying to duty stations. Greer headed back down towards the security office, internally cursing the whole way that he hadn’t been in the gate room to stop whatever happened. Ronald was damn sure it happened during SG-2s scheduled dial-out too.

He nodded to Private Becker as they both headed down, the guy had been on KP duty, but he was a marine, same as Ron. On level 24, Greer made way on the stairs to let a load of medical staff through, heading upwards. Greer took the opportunity provided by the forced detour to help out a group that were looking lost. He’d make his way downwards ASAP once the civilians were safe,

“Hey, Spencer, Lt” Greer squinted at a nametag, “…James,” the LT nodded tersely. Greer turned to the civilians and, not for the first time, wished that, like military personnel, they wore nametags, “and… uh, you people. Do you know where you need to be?”

“Oh sure.” Sgt Spencer’s response was darkly sarcastic. Ronald did not appreciate his fellow sergeant’s shitty attitude.

“Sgt! I asked you a _question_.”

Instead of coming to attention at the bark, Spencer glowered sullenly. Christ, this was absolutely fucking unacceptable. The butterbar LT nodded at the civilians,

“Escort duty. I’ll be helping them topside once that clears up.”

The gesture towards the stairs was all the explanation needed. Greer nodded his understanding, surprised by her demeanour, there was a stillness to her that Ronald hadn’t expected from her rank. Oh. Wait. Now he remembered; this one was AFSOC. She’d been one of the three that’d been with the notorious Sheppard when he’d fucked up the SGC. Greer saluted her, respecting both the person and the rank.

Greer turned to the civilians, shooting them a questioning look. A mousey looking civilian spoke up, the smallest of the three of them, the red head,

“I’m Dr Katie Brown. That’s Dr Parrish, Dr Baxter, and Dr Franklin. Why the evacuation alarm?”

“No idea.”

Greer admitted grudgingly.

The newly identified Parrish gestured to one of the other civilians,

“We were giving the famous Dr Franklin here the ten-cent tour when the alarms sounded. We didn’t want to delay the medical evacuation. As Lt James said, we’re going to wait out the rush, then make our way to the evacuation point.”

Despite Brown’s softly spoken demeanour and Parrish’s nerdy appearance the docs seemed remarkably relaxed about the situation. Almost as unconcerned as the LT. Dr Franklin, a tall unhealthy-looking man, on the other hand was sweating nervously. Greer nodded reassurances, backing up the young LT’s assessment,

“Good thinking people.”

Yeah it was coming back to him, today was a busy day for everyone. New civilian personnel, something about a new head of research, and a …Senator? Ronald eyed the out of shape civilian with a concerned eye, the guy bristled at the attention.

Ronald tched to himself and decided to make the best of it. He eyed the logjam at the stairs, it was obvious the evacuation of the infirmary was going to take a while. There were a couple of patients on gurneys waiting for the elevator, and medics escorting shaky patients still connected to IV-lines up the stairs. Between the infirmary evacuees and the solid block of civilians coming up from the labs below, it was going to be some time before he could head down to the security station.

James was trying to organise their motley little group. The Special Forces L.T. knew what was what, that was for sure. Even knowing she wasn’t fresh out of OTS, Greer was pleasantly surprised; Officers normally couldn’t tell the butt of their gun from the barrel,

“People, we’re best off staying here until all that dies down. You never know, we might get the all clear whilst we’re stuck here.” She gestured at the ends of the corridors and the stairs, “Let’s set up defensive positions to protect the wounded.”

Sgt Spencer exploded, the fiery idiot unknowingly echoed Ronald’s earlier thoughts,

“Hey, no butterbar is going to tell _me_ what to do!”

Greer cut the sergeant off at the knees, he hated turning on his fellow sergeant by siding with a damned _career_ officer, but this was not the time. Deliberately, he scoffed loudly,

“No shit boy, she’s spec ops and she outranks you. _Listen_ to her.”

James gave him an acknowledging nod. Behind her Parrish and Brown were quietly murmuring, which Ronald decided not to find alarming. Just as he’d noticed with James, they were far too calm about this for civvies. There was a weight of expectation in their eyes, a level of control to their movements that spoke of some level of experience. To Greer’s gratified non-surprise, three of the botanists automatically moved to defensible positions, Franklin the only one letting the side down. The guy was sweating profusely, it wasn’t hot.

Her orders were pretty much what Greer would have suggested anyway, defend the civilians for now. They were in no immediate danger here, but they were in position to help,

“We should make sure the docs finish getting the injured out of here, since we’re stuck anyway.”

Greer counted down mentally, ‘five… four… thre-‘

“And what good’ll that do anyone!? Everything’s happening several stories below us _L.T_.”

Spencer’s emphasis on her rank made it clear it was an insult. James defended herself calmly,

“All I’m saying is expect the worst, hope for the best.”

Greer shot Spencer a poisonous look. The _private_ was behaving better than he was, for chrissakes!

Following her orders, they repositioned themselves to defend the stairway and infirmary. James had an eye for tactical positioning that Greer could appreciate. Once they’d done what they could, Greer gave a theatrically agreeable nod, and settled in for the long haul,

“So, just the old hurry up and wait.”

“Yeah…” James rocked back on her heels and kept a wary eye on the stairs. Becker who’d been silent up until then, surrounded by his betters, spoke up,

“Dammit, we need to get to our designated areas. Not hang around here.”

“I _know,_ Private.”

Some of the frustration she must have been feeling crept into her voice. Weirdly none of the civilians raised a complaint.

As a group they waited around a few minutes more, uncomfortably catching each other’s eyes then getting back to warily watching the evac and corridor junctions. Greer was getting antsy, but the blockage at the stairs was impassable in both directions. He hadn’t thought there were that many people in the infirmary, but… Apparently, he’d been wrong. Yet _another_ group was queuing up, towing IVs.

Greer called out,

“Hey, Doc, what happened?”

The medic turned, surprised,

“Oh, SG-9 and SG-22 came back from PC8-453. The archaeology team they were escorting had a bit of a run in with some Ancient tech.”

Brown looked wetly sympathetic. Greer would have been judging the hell out of the little lady, but she was still too composed, not at all like most civilians he’d had to deal with. Hell, her, Baxter, and Parrish. They were too… _too…_ it wasn’t the bliss of ignorance either. There was hard edged experience in their gaze.

Greer nodded at the doc as the next round of patients were sent on their way,

“That the last of ‘em?”

“The last of those able to move, yes.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, I’m escorting them up, but… There’s still patients in there.” The medic gestured at the infirmary, “Doctor Lam is keeping an eye on everyone that’s left.”

The last of the injured were limping up the stairs to safety. At the sight of so many bandaged people Franklin muttered to himself,

“Just like Pittsburgh…” 

Greer incredulously asked,

“Have you ever _been_ to Pittsburgh?”

“Hey! I was born there.” James interrupted, effectively ending the nascent argument.

Ronald was impressed. She was _good_. Didn’t matter any if it was true or not, she’d stopped them dead.

He turned towards the infirmary.

All hell broke loose.

Where there’d been orderly movement a moment before the crowd on the stairs surged.

There were shots fired.

It took a split second to work out what the hell was going on. Old instincts kicked in, and Greer vaulted around the corner to join the private from KP duty behind the barrier formed by the tunnel’s struts.

Ronald was startled and embarrassed by his reaction all over again when two of the botanists ran around the corner to join them behind the cover it provided. The tiny redheaded woman, who looked the type to burst into tears at the drop of a hat, turned and calmly rattled off the information he hadn’t been able to get,

“It – it was those Milky Way guys in all the leather, and…” before Greer could yell at her to ‘spit it out’ she continued, “Our own people. _SGC_ uniforms.”

Greer was stunned. Dr Parrish nodded in confirmation.

Neither scientist was all that shocked by what they’d just told him. Greer was feeling pretty damned shaken.

“Becker – “

Attempts to wrest order were cut off when one of the leather clad hell’s angels wannabes tried to shoot them from around the buttress. Greer regained his calm and fired a warning shot his way. It would do no one any good to be a hothead now, Ronald knew they needed to preserve ammo for what was about to come.

“Becker, now many clips do you have?”

“Just the two, sir.”

“Damn…” Greer tched to himself, “Me too. Some well-prepared marine I am.”

“Hey! Don’t get yourself down like that!”

That was the petite redhead, Brown. Again, with the eery calm,

“Aw thanks doc.”

Greer didn’t finish that sentence, the rest of it would have been an angry bark about wishes and horses, but the look in her eye wasn’t the pathetic simpering he’d been expecting. Instead he finally recognised the look in the civvies’ eyes as the calm of a veteran. Greer turned awkwardly in his crouch, and found the tall thing streak of nothing wearing the same expression,

“Who’re you guys again?”

The whispered answer was, once again, surprisingly calm, considering there was someone just around the corner trying to shoot them all,

“I’m Doctor Parrish, that’s Doctor Brown. We’re the department co-heads in Lantis’s Botany Department.”

As Parrish spoke, Brown was rifling for something in her purse. With an exclamation of triumph, she pulled out a weird ass looking gun. Parrish gestured at the nervous civvie, nearly earning himself a hole in his arm for his troubles. The other two scientists had found cover with James and Spencer on the other side of the stairs. Considering the situation they’d all found themselves in, the scientist was remarkably chatty,

“Sorry about Doctor Franklin. We were supposed to be interviewing for new staff, or possibly we were the ones getting interviewed? I’ve got no idea actually.”

As he tried to organise some sort of crossfire with James, who’d taken cover at the other end of the corridor and was sniping from her end, the two botanists continued bickering cheerfully,

“Yunno David this is just like M5Z-84X.”

“If you say so Katie.”

Brown took down two soldiers with her super soaker even as she continued the conversation,

“Sure! I mean you and Lorne _hiding_ from the _big scary _Telarians. Me and Stackhouse rescuing you…”

“Rescued me? As I recall we were only in trouble because _you’d_ used your in with Doctor McKay to get the go ahead when you shouldn’t possibly have gotten cleara-“

“Oh! Don’t mention Rodney in front of Vanessa.”

“No?”

“No, he keeps staring at her…” Greer automatically pricked his ears up to listen to the whispered word, “…breasts.”

“Damn, he just never learns, does he?”

Brown sounded fond, “No, no he doesn’t.”

As they’d talked Brown and Parrish competently tag teamed four more of the hell’s angels types trying to get up to their level.

Greer resisted the temptation to scoff at the insanity of white people, it wouldn’t help anything any, but from the look on Becker’s face, he’d noticed too. Ron shared a wry grin with his fellow soldier, noted that the two botanists were still holding their own, and signalled that he was gonna try and take a looksie at what was going on, on the other side of their little siege.

James timed it perfectly, her shot winged out and felled a member of the SGC who was fighting alongside the invaders. Greer risked a glance around his cover, immediately a bullet thudded into the concrete behind him.

“We need to do something!”

It was Doctor Parrish babbling again.

“No dammit. We’ve got cover here. A defensible position, and unknown numbers on their side. We stay.”

Brown calmly fired off bursts of energy from her strange gun at the enemy, Parrish continued to argue his point excitedly,

“Look, Sergeant, we’ve both been in siege situations before. Doctor Brown and I are both First Wavers.”

“Wha-?”

Becker looked just as confused as Greer felt,

“Oh, sorry, I keep forgetting, this isn’t Pegasus.”

Brown chimed in, surprisingly bitterly,

“More’s the pity.”

“Yeah, tell me about it Katie. Look, point is, we’ve” Parrish gestured between himself and the mousey woman, “both fought off Wraith. We’re no soldiers, but we’re not like poor Doctor Franklin either.”

Brown tersely scolded the man, after she neatly took down another of the invaders,

“David, we’re in a firefight. Do try to pay attention.”

“Oh,” the skinny doc looked chagrined, “Sorry Katie.”

“Less sorries, more shooting.”

Parrish redrew his own strange looking gun from where he’d stashed it in the waistband of his pants. Brown did not look at all surprised to see it there. Greer finally gave in to the urge to ask,

“What the _hell_ is that?”

“Wraith stunner.”

“Okay then.”

Feeling vindictive Greer signalled that they should pop up in formation and lay down covering fire. To his gratified surprise, the two newly self-identified Atlanteans did exactly that. Between the four of them they managed to drive back the alien gangbangers, so their end of the corridor was no longer at risk of being overrun.

By the time Greer got to the stairway James was already organising a barricade at the stairs.

“Good work Sgt. Help me get some gurneys; we can jam them in there. Won’t hold up to much, but it’ll buy us time to work out what we do next.”

“Nice moves yourself L.T.”

He did not point out that most of it had been the civilians, Greer turned to the supply closet and started manhandling a gurney out and into the stairwell. Behind him there came a shout,

“Franklin! No! Come back!”

Spencer roared, “Get back here you useless fat fuck!”

Ronald grabbed for the civilian a second too late, a handful of shirt later, and the bulky man’s momentum tore him out of Greer’s grasp. _Dammit_! Stupid, stupid! It was his job to look out for these people, and he’d already lost one of them.

The twitchy Sergeant tore off after the civilian.

Greer was too late to stop him too. They vanished up the stairs. Ronald groaned in frustration,

“Fuck!”

James’ jaw was set,

“Let them go. We need to protect the civvies here.”

“I _know_. Dammit, I don’t like this.”

James nodded tersely.

Meanwhile, Parrish, Baxter, and Brown managed to jam three gurneys into the stairwell. It was a pathetic crappy barrier. But it could buy them vital moments. Becker was still guarding the evac route.

“Come on people!” Greer called out, “We don’t want to get caught out here. It’s too open.”

“Keep watch. I’ll check in with the medical people, see what’s what. Back in five.”

Greer nodded his agreement at James’ orders. Becker moved over to cover the section of the stairwell she’d been guarding.

Parrish spoke up,

“We need to get to my lab. I’ve got some truly remarkable samples of a Pegasus species that’s closely related to Atropa Belladona, it has some truly astonishing properties, it’s not poisonous at all unlike its Earth counterpart.”

“Doc, we don’t have time for this!”

Brown interrupted lowly,

“No listen to him – it’s a highly effective sedative. All we need to do is disperse it through the ventilation ducts and everyone below will be out cold.”

“And _why_ would we want to do that?”

The tiny redhead shot him a truly cutting look, Ronald was taken aback by the ferocity of it,

“Sergeant Greer, you saw it as clearly as we did. Half the people shooting were ours. There’s something turning our own people against us.”

***

Dr Lam pulled her handgun out of the emergency locker, then started passing around the weaponry to the rest of the remaining medical staff. The one consolation she had was that most of her people had left with their patients. Those that stayed favoured zats or wraith stunners. Do no harm still held sway here, even with the terrible situations they frequently came up against. Carolyn had a feeling alien life hellbent on enslaving the whole world had been on no one’s mind when they came up with the Hippocratic oath.

From the radio chatter it was clearly an invasion, with clear aspirations of becoming something more like a foothold situation.

A real one this time.

Until they got the all clear, Carolyn and her staff were prepared to protect their patients at all costs. She looked across at the prone form of Master Bra’tac in recovery, fresh out of surgery, and the restless shape of Colonel Dixon. Sedated and restrained to the infirmary bed, the man was even more helpless than the average patient. Carolyn was grateful there’d been no serious crush injuries amongst the team that had come in earlier, ‘just’ a few fractured ribs and one compound arm fracture, all of whom had safely made it topside in the elevator.

She met Teal’c’s calm gaze, the former member of SG-1 seemed remarkably serene about the situation given the frankly alarming chatter coming from the floors below, the shrill alarms blaring, and the fact that his old friend was lying in the infirmary with a recently patched hole in his shoulder.

The sentence that came out of his mouth was the last thing she expected,

“We shall need to carry out the Rite of M’al Sharran Doctor Carolyn Lam.”

Lam blinked in incomprehension, then said, remarkably calmly given the suffusion of rage,

“No! I told you. It’s barbaric! I won’t condone it.”

“It is the only treatment that has proven effective.” Teal’c looked implacable, “In this condition Colonel Dixon is an enemy at our backs.”

“Better he remains alive to give us intel later, than we condemn him to death for nothing.”

Teal’c shot her a look, even as he reached for his own weapon, and moved as if to take a position beside the door. They were interrupted by a young woman with 2nd Lt bars on her collar. Teal’c brought his zat up to bear before lowering it. He gave the woman one of those serene nods of his,

“Yes Lieutenant James?”

Lam kept the relief out of her voice by channelling her anger at Teal’c’s suggestion into her attitude instead. If the Lt was taken aback by the vehemence of her tone, she didn’t show it,

“We’ve got a situation.”

Lam opened her mouth, James hurriedly continued,

“More than the obvious that is. We just stopped you guys getting overrun by the invaders. Looked like Lucian Alliance to me.”

“Indeed. Lieutenant James I heard the commotion outside. I chose to remain here to defend the infirm.”

“Right. Yes. Well. That’s not all of it. Not by a long shot. They, they had our people.”

“Hostages?” Lam asked.

“No. _Our_ people were on _their_ side.”

Lam felt the blood drain from her face. She turned to eye the struggling, even under sedation, form of Colonel Dixon.

“Teal’c have you ever heard of anything that could work so quickly?”

“Yes. I’d believed it a myth Doctor Lam.”

“Clearly it wasn’t.”

“Indeed.”

“Well?!” James’s voice cut through the moment of shared horror.

“Amongst the Jaffa, there are legends of a device that could make Za’tarc with a flash. The tales have it that the gods Isis and Osiris often used such a thing to turn their enemies into their friends, before the System Lords rose up, and Ra threw them down in disgust at their hedonism. Rumour had it that Nirrti had acquired the technology before the end.”

Lam blinked.

“Well that tears it, it’s even more important we don’t let anything happen to Colonel Dixon. He might be able to tell us what the hell happened.”

Teal’c inclined his head. Carolyn turned to the lieutenant,

“Lt James. Please tell me you’ve got a team out there.”

“Uh… Sort of ma’am.”

“Sort of?”

“I’ve got a Marine Master Sergeant, a Private, and fou- three botanists.”

Lam was incredulous, “And you successfully held off against the invaders?”

The chatter from the levels below had _not_ been encouraging.

“Well,” in a tone that said it all, “The botanists _are_ Lanteans.”

Carolyn hmmed in response, everyone at the SGC had heard the rumours.

***

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuckity fuck_.

The heretofore expected, but as yet absent, sense of existential dread that Nick had been expecting to hit him like a ton of bricks ever since he’d gotten confirmation that aliens existed, finally arrived. With a thud. Rush had previously thought, all those months ago, calm in his mistaken belief in his own intellectual superiority, that he’d escaped such emotional turmoil by pure dint of thinking it _fair fucking obvious_ that there _had _to be more life out there. The universe was an indescribably huge place after all. It was sheer fucking _arrogance_ to believe humanity could be the only blip of life out in the dark.

Now, with the reality of it staring him in the face he was frozen with the sheer dread of it.

Rush wasn’t sure if it was by chance or design, but Colonel Mitchell and one of the Sheppard brothers managed to escape the thoroughly stereotypical snatch of the alien craft. That is, Nick assumed it was _fucking_ alien. It would be fair fucking embarrassing if he panicked like this over nothing.

The other two vanished up with the light and metal rings. Leaving nothing but a patch of dusty earth in their wake. The only thing that would make it more cliched, was a fucking cow looking distinctly puzzled.

Blinking the afterimages away, Nick realised he had to move, had to help the others. Escape this fucking insanity. Heart in his mouth, Rush sprinted towards their fallen forms. With a detached sort of horror, Nick spotted the half-a-gun sat incongruously on the desert floor, as he ran. The yellow-hot glow of molten steel showed where the rings had cleanly snatched only half of the thing away.

Nick was only metres away from the downed pair still sprawled on the desert floor when the rings materialised around him.

The first thing Nick knew after that was electric blue.

He collapsed to the floor, and blearily noticed the gold walls, before all consciousness fled.

***

O’Neill double took at the silver oak-leaves on his companion’s shoulders,

“Hey Davis.” He hissed as they cautiously picked their way through the choking dust and debris.

“Yessir?”

“Why didn’t you say you’d made Lt Colonel?”

O’Neill wished they could have gone the other way, but the other exit from his office had been completely inaccessible. So, towards the probable death trap it was.

“You knew sir, you were the one who signed off on it.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Jack frowned, “How are Majors Peterson and Green working out for you? I hope they aren’t as big a pain in your ass as you used to be for us.”

“Nossir.”

Davis shot him a cheeky grin, a few years back O’Neill wouldn’t have thought the man had enough personality to do even that. He sighed, and immediately regretted it as it felt like he’d breathed in all the grot in a room that had been sealed up for thousands of years. After hacking up a lung, O’Neill coughed out,

“I’m okay!”

He shot an annoyed look at Davis’s concerned face, and doggedly continued picking his way over the rubble.

“Sir! Wait up!”

“What is it?”

Davis was scrambling rapidly through the broken concrete that blocked an office to the side. Eventually Jack worked out why, and once enough space had been cleared for him to safely help, joined Davis. A foot appeared. Then a lower leg. Then a body.

Airman O’Donnell looked very much the worse for wear. But he was alive, and conscious,

“Thank you! I thought I was a goner for sure!” The young man got some of his composure back and seemed to notice their ranks for the first time, “Sirs!”

O’Neill winced inwardly. Whilst rank did indeed have its privileges, he sometimes regretted the way it made it so _difficult_ to talk to people.

“Oh for crying out loud, at ease Airman! Relax, well no. Don’t _relax_, look around you. I think getting the hell outta here is more important than standing on ceremony, don’t you?”

O’Donnell shot a panicked look towards Davis, before seeming to realise that O’Neill could still see him.

“Uh, yessir.”

“Great, we’re trying to find a way outta here. Care to join us?”

“Yeah. Uh.. What happened sir?”

“Far as we could tell… a something fell on Homeworld Command.” Jack grumbled, “Just after we got our own building too. The rat bastards have no sense of timing.”

Davis shared an amused look with O’Donnell, O’Neill pretended not to notice. Good, so long as they didn’t notice they were no closer to finding an exit. In Davis’s hand the Geiger counter clicked away to itself. Yeah, that’d been the reason the other exit was inaccessible, there was something decidedly _hot_ at the other end of the building that they were trying to avoid. Jack had a sinking feeling that they wouldn’t be able to for much longer.

They came upon another blocked corridor.

The Geiger counter crackled ominously, but it wasn’t in the red zone yet.

***

The plan was simple. Greer and Lt James would escort one of the botanists down to the lab levels. The botanist would cook up a load of alien sedative, Greer would escort the geek to safety, and James would continue down to the central air circulation station for levels 26-28. The wholly separate system should hopefully prevent anyone closer to the surface from being taken down by the powerful drug.

Lam, Becker, and the remaining botanists would remain in the infirmary, guarding Dixon, and under Teal’c’s capable protection. Greer and the nominated botanist would make their way to the secondary security station on level 16, with a backup supply of the sedative, and spread the plan to whoever was in charge of this mess.

Greer hoped it would work out that way. No plan survived an encounter with the enemy. From the atmosphere as they geared up with some of the contents of the Infirmary’s security cupboard, James was of the same mind. So too were the botanists. They’d armed themselves with zats with all the calm of a member of a gate team.

After helping Lam and Teal’c barricade the infirmary, Greer, James and Brown picked their way past the makeshift barricade on the stairs and began their journey into unknown enemy territory.

***

“Boarders! They haven’t bothered with the airlock, there’s something stuck to the hull.”

“You mean a breaching pod, Major?”

Sam turned to Marks in alarm,

“We’re getting error messages on bulkhead hatches throughout the ship. They’re making their way to engineering and the bridge.”

“Dammit.”

A new voice joined the chatter of the command channel on the radio,

“Carter, we’ve got pirates.”

“Ronon?”

Sam was surprised for a moment, she’d forgotten he was on board, he’d tagged along because, as he’d put it, he was ‘bored’ waiting around on Earth. She’d never been quite so grateful to see the taciturn young man in her life, his familiar unimpressed visage a surprising comfort,

“I need you to keep them out of engineering Ronon. If they get to the engines or life support, we’re done for.”

“Sure.”

“There’s a saboteur somewhere on board.”

At that Ronon’s expression morphed into one of fury, he shot her a smile that was all teeth and dashed off in the direction of the engines.

Steeling herself Carter started issuing ship wide commands,

“All personnel to their designated stations. We have boarders. This is not a drill.”

***

Mitchell focussed doggedly on putting one foot in front of the other. His whole world had tunnelled down to staying on his feet, despite the way his head was pounding fit to burst. He could not _believe_ how much Sheppard was complaining. Cam had never known a man to bitch so damned much about sand. Being fair, the wind picked up enough that sharp grains kept getting thrown in his face every few minutes, and he was looking down at nothin’ but the small patch of ground he was walking, or more truthfully, tottering over. This was the uncomfortable, difficult to work through scrubby desert of Colorado too. No cacti per say, but lots of prickly little bushes.

Cam staggered onwards, his arm slung over Sheppard’s shoulder, it was awkward. Cam wasn’t short by any stretch, but Sheppard was just that bit taller than he was. Enough to make it tough as hell with his knee. It was going to be difficult to cover any ground, but Cam was determined to give it the good ole college try.

Fuck. Cam’s knee was _wrecked._ His good knee too.

Mitchell had no idea where the others had gotten to, he hoped to hell they were okay. Whatever the hell happened while he’d been out couldn’t have been good from the way Sheppard was clutching at that zat like his life depended on it. Cam somehow ended up with the salvaged remains of a handgun, he couldn’t quite tell what it used to be. Most of the barrel had been sheared clean off, making it resemble nothing so much as the world’s smallest a sawn-off shotgun. Honestly Cam wasn’t convinced that the thing would be safe to fire, or even if standing directly _behind_ the person doing the shooting would be any protection. But it was all they had; Sheppard had practically pressed it into his hands before Cam fully came around.

Cam had woken up with a splitting headache, and the realisation that he was in a fireman’s carry being awkwardly hauled across the landscape. He’d struggled his way to the ground, and instantly regretted that decision. His knee let him know in no uncertain terms that it had been overextended at some point when he’d been out. There’d been a distinct lack of people chasing them, despite Sheppard’s closed lip worry. Cam couldn’t tell if anyone was following them, but he sure as hell hoped they’d hear them before they were on them. For all his bellyaching, Sheppard was doing a good job of dragging both of their sorry behinds along in the desert scrub.

They staggered along, like the worst, most geriatric three-legged race contestants in the world. The mental image made Cam snort, which he immediately regretted as it pulled on his aching ribs.

Aw crap.

As his Grandmammy used to say, he was worn slap out, but he’d make it.

They marched onwards.

Eventually Cam remembered why every soldier hated sand so much. The nasty stuff got everywhere, it was chafing something awful before long, they still had miles to go.

***

The going was hard, not for the first time since the sirens had started wailing Vanessa wished Sheppard was leading this thing. Oh, he’d probably have no better clue what was going on than the rest of them. She was AFSOC, James was well-aware just how much of what Sheppard had done the other day had been improvisation. But… Dammit, it had been reassuring fighting her way through the SGC alongside the Atlantis CO’s competent presence.

James told herself to buck up, even as they stumbled on yet another crush of viciously fighting soldiers who should all have been _on their side_. When she’d asked if this sort of thing happened a lot round these parts, James hadn’t expected confirmation to come along quite so soon. This had been bad enough the first time around, though with the 20/20 of hindsight, James now knew they’d barely been putting up much of a fight.

These guys though?

It was a vicious and bitter skirmish every time they came across a load of zombiefied SGC guys down here.

Between her and Greer and the zats, they cut a swathe through the mass of maddened SGC personnel blocking their way to the botanical labs. The USMC Master Sgt was pretty badass. Brown wasn’t flinching either, she’d materialised one of those Pegasus-special water gun looking things that Sheppard also favoured, and was laying down cover fire as quickly as any hardened veteran.

Finally, after what felt like an absolute age of stunning, zip-tying, and doubling back, they made it to the damned labs.

They were blessedly empty.

James set herself up guarding their six and let Greer and Brown hop to it.

Hopefully their magic sleepy time potion would sort all this crap out. Then it would just be mopping up. They could sort out who was who afterwards.

All was quiet.

There was a commotion down the hall. James didn’t abandon her self-assigned post, but she did keep a wary ear out to see if the noise would get any closer.

Eventually it did, a young Asian officer was barrelling down the hall, pursued by yet more zombiefied personnel.

“Duck!”

The captain did so.

James rattled off six zat shots, five of them struck home.

The captain dealt with the sixth soldier, neatly taking down the snarling airman with a move straight out of the AFSOC handbook.

“Nice job Captain.” James called out, “Need a hand?”

The woman turned, and James read Satterfield on her tag. In an efficient manner she accepted James’s offered zip-ties, and they both got to work securing the downed soldiers. Once finished, Satterfield dusted herself off and kept a wary eye on the corridor she’d just come down,

“Thanks for the assist. What are you doing down here Lieutenant? I thought everyone else on these levels had been turned already.”

“Ah, we’ve got a plan. That’s if Teal’c’s guess about what turned our people was right.”

“I saw it on the monitors, it was a flash of light or a sound, out of this grenade thing. Suddenly half our people down there were tearing into our side. The people who weren’t taken in were overwhelmed.”

James nodded grimly. That more or less confirmed their suspicions. Proving she was the officer her rank implied Satterfield immediately went from sharing grim news to getting on with business,

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You can help me guard this here door until the geeks come out with our solution.”

Satterfield grinned.

“I am a qualified geek myself yunno.”

“Oh? In that case you should go in there and help, uh,” James remembered herself a second too late, this wasn’t the tight-knit loose chain of command structure of spec ops anymore, “if that’s okay with you, Captain.”

“Of course, this is the SGC. You’ve gotta be prepared to pitch in around here.”

Satterfield vanished into the depths of the botany lab behind her. With renewed caution James resumed her watch.

***

Camile tried not to get squashed in the crush of people heading up to the surface or lose track of the IOA delegates and Senator Armstrong. Their escort, a distressingly young 1st Lieutenant, called Scott, was gamely trying to keep charge of their little group. But Camile had been around the political class long enough, and met enough fresh out of ROTC recruits in her line of work at DC, that she knew he was fighting a losing battle,

“Ma’am please, we can’t afford to linger. This way.”

Madam Shen shot the boy a filthy glare, Senator Armstrong, bless the man, was stoically pretending that it was all fun and games.

“Now, now, ambassador, I wanted to see just where my money was going same as you. We’re all caught up in this mess, whatever it is.”

The man’s aide and daughter, Chloe, a more blatant example of nepotism Camile had never seen, nervously kept pace in the middle. Of the whole group, she was the only one obeying the young Lieutenant’s orders with any degree of alacrity. Camile could see the other soldier biting his tongue to stop from shouting at them all to get going.

The group made it to level 15, nearly up to the NORAD/SGC divide and the secondary lift shaft to the surface when the rumble echoed through the base. Whatever was going on down there, they all felt it.

Around them the crowd were remarkably well-behaved, despite the air of quiet panic that suffused the atmosphere.

“Curtis is a good soldier, he’s a tough guy. He’s not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Scott tried to add reassurances, but Camile knew it was the exact kind of line they taught at ROTS, Senator Armstrong was probably well-aware of that fact too,

“Well then, isn’t this a grand adventure hey Chloe? Proof that we’re getting our money’s worth!”

***

Mitchell wanted to cry when they found the road. Ordinarily he would be advocating for sticking with the bush, but, the flat surface would let them make faster progress, and his knee was agony. Oh, Sheppard was doing his best to take most of the weight, but the angle, and the need to keep moving meant it was a losing battle.

Not for the first time he cursed the fact that his left leg was held together with more titanium than bone. Cam blearily wondered what the hell happened, between the suspected concussion and the gnawing permanent agony that was fluctuating between a low-grade burning sensation, and jagged shards of ice shooting up towards his groin with every step… Well, he weren’t thinking too clearly at the moment.

Concussion or no, Cam could count to five, and they were missing three members of their party.

Sheppard had been closed lipped about what happened, not out of secrecy or anything like that, but the need to save his breath as he hauled his and Cam’s sorry behinds out of the danger zone. Again, Cam eyed up the surreal site of the sawn-off handgun he was clutching. It was a completely clean cut. Looked almost sorta melted.

Hazily Mitchell checked their six for the umpteenth time, before digging in for the long haul.

***

Davis let out an exclamation, and started shaking a figure that had been disguised in the gloom of yet another office,

“Hey, hey are you okay?”

“Yeah yeah I’m fine.”

O’Neill’s questioning, “And you are?” was more sarcastic than it should have been. The figure looked painfully young. Even more than Airman O’Donnell back there. This new guy looked even worse on the baby-face front than the lieutenants Sheppard had unknowingly put through their paces. He looked pretty squirrelly too, come to think of it.

“Airman Evans.”

Jack stood back and observed as the other two got the new guy on his feet, albeit unsteadily.

“What happened?”

Jack immediately shot back cheerfully,

“Not a clue!”

Squirrelly guy glared; Jack raised his eyebrows at him. They started trying to find a way around the newest load of rubble blocking their path. There was about a foot’s worth of clearance between the mountain of concrete and the ceiling, the four of them clambered up and over.

O’Neill found himself embarrassingly short of breath, he hated to admit it but,

“Maybe we should rest for a minute, I can hardly breathe.”

Airman Evans added the oh so helpful observation,

“It’s the dust. It’s in your lungs already.”

O’Neill glared at the young man, even as Davis added his own two cents,

“We don’t stop, we keep going.”

“Oh for cryin- Davis, this is no time to pretend to be superman!”

They all settled down to catch their breath, Jack felt the need to lighten the mood. It was his fault they’d stopped,

“Well, isn’t this cheery?”

O’Donnell gamely agreed,

“Yessir.”

Davis rolled his eyes. Jack didn’t hold back his smug grin, rank did have its privileges after all.

“So, how’re we gonna spin this one to the president?”

“Oh no sir. That’s all _your_ job.”

“Oh, come on _Colonel,_ you’re still our Pentagon liaison. It’s half _your_ job too yunno.” Jack widened his eyes, “You’re paid to kiss up to fifty percent of the asses.”

Davis scowled. O’Donnell was visibly trying not to laugh. Jack started readying another riposte when Evans grabbed at Davis. In the dark, with the dust, the moment was a surreal confusion of movement and noise.

When the situation resolved into something Jack’s brain could translate, Evans had Davis by the neck with what looked suspiciously like a shiv pointed at the major’s jugular,

“We need to get out now. If you don’t, I’m gonna kill him!”

“Oh for!”

Jack didn’t bother finishing the exclamation, he simply drew a bead on the guy with his sidearm. He just _knew_ Airman Snuffy had been suspicious. At the sight of the gun the ‘Airman’ began to panic,

“Put the gun down now. Put it down or I’m gonna kill him!”

Davis looked pretty calm for a desk jockey caught up in a hairy situation. If it weren’t for the struggle to catch his breath, Jack was half convinced the guy would have looked bored. Jack aimed for the same tone,

“Airman what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not going to die in here, we’re going to turn around and find another way out!”

O’Neill sarcastically asked,

“Lucian Alliance - right, Airman Snuffy?”

He tried to work out how to get Davis out of this crap, the ‘Airman’ looked confused by the reference. Which only served to confirm it.

O’Neill didn’t have time to mount an attack. O’Donnell loomed up behind the struggling pair out of the gloom like a bear and clamped down on the wrist holding the shiv. The shiv was crushed with a snap. Davis stumbled free; the distinctive wet crunch of a neck being twisted in a direction the human body was never intended to move echoed loudly in the silence.

O’Neill didn’t flinch at the altogether too familiar sound.

He nodded at O’Donnell as the body of the Alliance spy slumped to the floor,

“Thank you.”

O’Neill coolly poked at the corpse, with the toe of his boot he pushed the collar down exposing the black marking on the guy’s neck that he’d caught a glimpse of earlier,

“See that? Clan tattoo.” He met Davis’s eye, “You okay colonel?”

“Yessir.”

“Looks like Sixth House. He must have been the pilot.”

O’Donnell looked confused,

“How’d you figure that sir?”

Even as he mused out loud, Jack was painfully aware that they were all missing something about this situation. What the hell had caused all this destruction? He had a sinking feeling they’d find out when they walked into it,

“Plan must have been to plant one of those bombs of theirs, then walk away. They must not have figured we had Asgard scanners at our disposal.” Jack let out a melancholy sigh, “That’s another one I owe Thor.”

***

They were at level twelve when the tension finally snapped,

“I’m a US Senator! Don’t you _dare_ patronise me son!”

Scott put on his best ‘officer’ tone of voice,

“Sir, I need you to calmly make your way to the surface. We don’t want you getting in the way of operations, or worse, getting hurt on our watch.”

Scott tried not to let the bitching of the civilians he was escorting get to him. He’d initially thought he found the Senator’s daughter, Chloe, attractive, in that distant, ‘maybe I’ll _like_ her after all’ kind of way that he felt about most women. But… As their attempts to make it to the evacuation point continued, Matthew found he felt pretty much the same way about her as most girls. She was confusing and altogether too soft, not as in girls are weaker, though as a soldier he’d heard that opinion expressed often enough, even at OTS. But… Just in a completely unattractive fashion that he’d always tried to push down and smother.

Oh he knew that DADT was on the way out, there’d been whispers for months now, and as far as Matthew knew only one SGC servicemember had _ever_ been sent down under that section of the UCMJ, and that had been because their tryst had been witnessed by some asshole NID appointee. Old Hammond apparently always turned a blind eye, even when the affair was blatant, and Landry wasn’t that particular brand of asshole.

Scott eyed up the Senator, and his daughter again. Why he, of all people, had gotten stuck with escorting this lot to safety, Matthew didn’t know. Perhaps it was some sort of subtle punishment. At least the IOA lady wasn’t complaining, though from the frown creasing her brow she was just as nervous about this situation as the others, she was just less vocal about it.

“Why do we have to evacuate?”

That was Coolidge.

“I’ve lived through an invasion attempt before you know young man. I survived the _wraith_. A few pirates are hardly-“

“Sir, I’m going to need you to pipe down, and let me get on with my job.”

They joined the press of people making their way to the eleventh floor, up here nearing the non-SGC levels it was getting crowded again. Servicepeople were making their way down into the mountain just as quickly as civilians were trying to get out. It made for a hectic crush.

Dr Covel, the guy who was supposed to be SGCs new research honcho, wasn’t complaining per say, but he’d been making passive aggressive comments the whole way to the surface,

“I must say Camile, I’m impressed.”

Wray’s response was dry,

“By what, the evacuation?”

“No, no of course no-“ He caught Scott’s eye, “Well, yes. Very efficient, excellent example of military derring-do. But what I meant was, it was everything you IOA types promised. I admit I was sceptical when the recruiter came to Cornell, but the science here? Marvellous. There’s technology that I could scarcely have dreamed would exist within my lifetime…”

Covel continued to marvel inappropriately, Scott barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and only because Chloe was looking his way.

They were nearly at the top of the stairwell to the NORAD half of the mountain, Armstrong, who’d seemed too affable before, started complaining. Past panting breaths he huffed,

“Why didn’t we use the lifts Lieutenant?”

“Lifts are for evacuating personnel who can’t walk Senator, sorry.”

“Surely as VIPs we merit-“

“That means people from the infirmary.” Senator Armstrong looked annoyed, Scott belatedly tacked on a, “Sir.”

The man barely looked appeased.

Progress slowed to a crawl at they reached the final landing. There was a hell of a crowd gathered.

Dr Caine, the IT guy Scott had seen around the mountain a few times stiffened as soon as he caught sight of Senator Armstrong. Veins popped out on his temples. His face went red.

He scrambled towards the politician with an arm outstretched.

“For the Sixth House!!”

“What the hell?” Curtis exclaimed uselessly, as the civilian got ever closer to the Senator.

Scott grabbed the wildly thrashing tech around the waist and heaved him backwards. The crowd around them were bunching up, the people behind still trying to get off the staircase and out of the mountain, the people in front trying to help.

It was totally FUBAR. The stairs were no place for this kind of fighting.

For a terrifying moment Scott thought he was gonna go over the handrail, and meet his maker 20 stories below, but Armstrong grabbed him by the shoulder and helped him keep his balance.

Curtis finally seemed to remember he was a soldier and started trying to help wrestle the foaming civilian to the ground. The sharp edges of the stairwell, and the close quarters were making it next to impossible.

One moment Scott thought they had everything in hand.

The next there was a shout.

Curtis fell backwards, dazed by a blow to the head from an elbow.

Dr Caine rushed at the Senator.

Still struggling with the maddened civilian, Senator Armstrong vanished over the handrail.

From what felt like a million miles away Scott heard the exclamations below as people tried to catch them.

What felt like an age later, there was a thump.

Caine was still gibbering madly half-over the rail, half on the stairs of the flight one story below. Soldiers and civilians alike were holding the guy back.

Scott couldn’t quite feel he deserved it.

Through the numb shock, Scott watched as the skinny little guy needed six men to pin him down and plastic cuff him. Even restrained, the doc was struggling like a wild thing. Face purple, veins popping obscenely. The group in front of him began manhandling the guy off the stairs.

He turned, and saw the look of blank disbelief morph into devastation, then rage on Chloe’s face.

Scott tried to stave off the inevitable,

“I’m so sorry Chloe, but we need to get outta here. I know you’re looking for someone to blam-“

“I’m not _looking_!”

With a growl Scott wouldn’t have credited with the demure young woman he’d been accompanying all day, Chloe leapt at him. Clawed hands outstretched. Matthew deftly outmanoeuvred the young woman’s attempts to physically attack him. He pinned her arms with embarrassing ease. Shushing her Scott simultaneously continued to hustle the group off the stairs and towards the surface.

It wasn’t pleasant. The attempts at slaps gradually devolved into outright sobs. It was a good job he’d been doing so much PT lately due to all that training; he’d have never been able to pull her near dead-weight along the corridor otherwise. Matthew kept up a litany of soothing nonsense, even as they made it past the changeover point to NORAD and the Big Air Force section of the mountain on the eleventh floor, and the going got easier.

Somehow, they made it to the staircase to the surface, and began climbing. By this point Chloe was sobbing inconsolably, Scott turned to see how the rest of his group was doing and caught Wray’s eye. Wray looked unwillingly impressed. The sour look the HR lady had been wearing the whole time was briefly replaced by an expression of understanding that he just couldn’t stand. Scott turned away hurriedly, unable to stomach the empathy he saw there.

***

Sam made her way through the ship corridors. She’d ordered Marks to barricade the command deck and bridge and reroute command to the secondary bridge. Carter hoped they wouldn’t see through her bluff, and waste valuable time trying to break through some of the thickest bulkheads in the ship, only to find the consoles they were protecting were useless to them.

Carter needed to get to the engineering deck, with its access to the shield generators and the hyperdrive systems. (Not to mention the _Hammond’s_ copy of the Asgard Core.) Whilst she couldn’t help but worry about her crew, Sam knew they were all extremely competent. Between veterans of the _Apollo, the Odyssey, _and the_ Daedalus, _long term SGC personnel, _and_ the members of the Atlantis Expedition… The crew of the _Hammond_ were unusually experienced.

A man dressed head to toe in the black leathers the alliance favoured appeared at the next corridor junction. Without compunction Sam shot him with her zat before he realised she was there. It wasn’t a kill-shot, just a stun. Besides, she still remembered what happened to Colonel Paul Emerson when the Alliance had taken the _Odyssey_. They’d give her crew no quarter. So, she wouldn’t give them a chance either.

Sam zip tied the guy and rerouted power from the nearest supply closet so he wouldn’t be able to get out without a great deal of effort from someone outside, then moved on.

***

Sirens were wailing.

Sgt Hunter Riley couldn’t believe it. They’d only just finished tidying up the worst of the wreckage from the Wraith bombing, and now?

Now the warehouses that were being used to hold all that downed wraith tech were on fire.

It just wasn’t fair.

He’d been on clean-up duty for _weeks_.

They’d been days away from getting to the chair.

Now? Nellis was burning again.

Hunter could only hope he’d survive whatever the hell this was. Figures dressed in black were running around everywhere. He guessed only some of them were on his side, though of course, in his black Air Force, non-SGC, but part of the Stargate Programme, garrison uniform, Riley at least blended in with everyone else.

He dashed to the nearest supply closet and hoped against hope that _this _one would contain something he could use to defend himself. Nope, nada. Again, he was stuck with the clip in his sidearm and nothing else. Riley was lucky to even have that much; as an administrative aide he was purely there to help out the desk jockeys.

A loud boom that could be felt, as much as heard, rattled the complex.

From his viewpoint in the supply closet on the outskirts of Nellis, Sgt Hunter Riley watched with wide eyes as the central ‘here’s all the crap we haven’t catalogued yet’ Area 51 warehouse went up in flames. There went the scavenged wraith tech. This far out it was easy to see when the tide of the skirmish turned, the ant-like figures scurrying back and forth resembled a tactical game rather than real people. The airmen of Nellis successfully got the enemy on the run, driving the invaders out with well-placed gunfire, and even what looked suspiciously like a hastily uncovered railgun emplacement.

One moment you couldn’t hide from the enemy, the next, it was all over.

The raiders or whatever the hell they’d wanted had fled as quickly as they’d arrived.

The tide had turned against the invaders with the all the unpredictable danger of the sea.

Riley sighed in relief and slid down to lean against the door of his supply closet. Perhaps things around here could go back to normal some time this year? Was that too much to ask?

***

The idiots running this conference were convinced the likes of Kavanagh held all the answers to the world’s energy crisis. Just wait until declassification came along, and Rodney’s work on the mkII Naquada generators, the matter bridge, wormhole networks, _and_ ZPM’s got released.

Rodney held back a sneer, he’d _agreed_ to come, Zelenka had plied him with Molson’s, and flattery, the Czech sneak! ‘It’ll be fun’ they said, ‘you’ll get to mock Tunney’s horribly incorrect theories about quantum tunnelling!’ they said. Rodney sighed and stuffed a handful of caviar blinis into his mouth, munching as loudly and obnoxiously as he could to express his disdain for the whole event. The only attention it earnt him was an appalled look from the server.

Miko sidled up to him, and, much more politely, started cramming as much expensive food from the buffet onto her plate as she could manage. All the Expedition scientists who’d come were acting the same way, to a greater or lesser extent. Treating Earth as another alien planet, with strange foods to try and customs to observe, or in this case, completely ignore.

Rodney was painfully aware the Expedition scientists were acting ridiculously cliquey, oh not in the adolescent hazing/bullying sense at Highschool. It was as if they were the group of kids at uni that always hung around together, always sat together in the cafeteria, and stared at outsiders awkwardly until they left. Other people at the conference were giving them weird looks, and well, if _Rodney_ was noticing it, it must be bad.

He nodded politely to Zelenka (rather than melting him with the sheer intensity of his perfectly justified rage), who was in a corner with Simpson discussing something heatedly. They were probably arguing about the possibility of organic bearings again. The disgusting semi-grown nature of Wraith-tech had made it clear that it was possible to do all sorts of things with, McKay shuddered, _nature,_ that most scientists on Earth had never contemplated in their wildest pipedreams. McKay thought the argument had been well-worn back in Pegasus, let alone here, where they were forced to debate in euphemisms and aspersions.

Biro and Kusanagi were busily chattering to each other over the buffet. Well, Biro was chattering, Miko was nodding along politely, whilst cramming as much of the buffet food into her mouth as she could politely fit in one swallow. It was impressive, the amount heaped on her plate rivalled Rodney’s, yet somehow, she managed to be …_dainty_ as she ate her own bodyweight in badly made hors d’oeuvres.

McKay turned and eyed the crowd with a cynical eye. So far the conference was the usual mix of hilariously incorrect theories (based upon premises that were so far off base, that the basic assumptions contained therein were not only _wrong_, but ludicrously inappropriate), stultifying papers that nevertheless worried Rodney as they threatened to impinge ever further upon his as-yet-unpublished work’s breakthroughs from decades past, and… science that was so pitifully basic a pre-schooler could do it.

Of course, his fellow Atlanteans being present helped soften the dark edge of ‘_we don’t belong here anymore_’ that they were all feeling. Rodney spent much of the conference alternately trading disbelieving looks with Zelenka about just how very wrong _everyone_ was about the basic fundamentals of the fabric of the universe, and… quietly but fiercely arguing with Radek and Miko about just what those fundamentals _actually_ were instead.

It was all fun and games until someone pulled a gun.

Rodney’s automatic response was to reach for his own. Which, actually, he _had_ brought with him. It just wasn’t openly displayed on his hip, like it would have been back in Pegasus. The split second of fumbling for the within-waistband holster gave the guy the chance to grab Simpson.

The bald thug, with a neck as thick as his head, had Simpson by her neck. He gestured with the hand holding the gun,

“Come with us… quietly, if you want your friend to live.”

It was a good threat. Calm. Professional.

Miko, looking every inch the stereotypical Japanese wallflower, threw her plate at his face, and in the disgusted fishy aftermath, jumped on the man’s back and dug a vicious little hand into the join between his neck and his shoulder.

The mass of muscle and testosterone went down like a felled tree, yowling in a surprisingly high octave. It was a move Rodney recognised from Civilian Self-Defence 101. She’d dug her bony (and from experience, extremely _pointy_) fingers into a nerve cluster.

Simpson struggled out of his grasp and joined Miko in grabbing at the goon’s gun. The two women took him down in what would have been a hilarious slap-fest, if the situation wasn’t so dire. Rodney finally got a hold of his own sidearm and cocked it at the brute, just as several more jackbooted thugs emerged from the crowd.

The apparent ringleader, a bruised heap of quivering flesh, held at gunpoint, with two sidearms, one of them his own gun, no less. But… There were five Lanteans, and nine thugs.

It was a standoff.

Dammit, this was the exact kind of stuff Sheppard was paid to deal with. _Rodney_ was the genius tech guy who came up with brilliant last-minute solutions that killed the badguys weapons, not the one who _pointed_ weapons at people. Yet, here he was.

Around them the convention hall descended into chaos. People were alternately streaming from the hall, frozen in fear, or, perversely, trying to get closer to gawp.

Miko, Simpson, Biro, and Zelenka all stood firm. They were clearly struggling with the urge to leap forward and _do something_. For all that she’d been amazing, Miko was just as unarmed as the others. They hadn’t been expecting trouble, here, at a conference for - for – oh Rodney couldn’t remember, something to do with aeronautics and astrophysics – but at a conference for Feynman’s sake!

He wished one of the military grunts was around. With Lorne off doing god knows what in DC, Major Teldy and Major Rutherford were sharing military duties on the city. Why hadn’t one of them come along as an escort? _Dammit_, Rodney should have gone with the botanists to the SGC, he was sure that Parrish, Brown, and Baxter were having a much better time of it escorting whatshisface, the new hybrid plant guy they were all so excited to meet. Rodney shuddered internally at memories of Parrish exclaiming loudly over some new species of _daisy_. Or not.

Rodney readjusted his sweaty grip on his beretta.

This was just like that time with Lavin and Kolya and the Genii thugs. Only, Rodney’s team wasn’t around to help save the day. Rodney wondered when backup would arrive, then blinked when he realised.

_McKay_ was probably the _most experienced_ person in the room when it came to this sort of situation.

For a moment his whole self-image inverted on itself. It was like Rodney was _Rod_. His infuriating, cooler, better, alternate self.

Arms newly steady around the Beretta, McKay checked his aim. He knew he’d never be as good as Ronon or even Sheppard at this, but he was a fair shot these days. All the Lanteans were. You had to be. ‘How to survive a Wraith Encounter 101’ was not just a funny name for civilian bootcamp, the way most of the cretinous SGC-bound military personnel seemed to believe. The classes weren’t an excuse for the grunts to humiliate the scientific contingent, but a genuine effort to make sure that no one would be helpless if the worst should happen and Atlantis was overrun. (Again.)

McKay thought he had a clear shot. But he didn’t want to risk the civilians in the hall.

He didn’t want to resort to base threats, but, what else could he do? Trying to keep the quaver out of his voice, Rodney let his mouth start running,

“You know you’ll never get away with this. We’ve faced down worse …_people_ than you. They generally end up dead.”

Biro, bless her strange little soul, quickly cottoned on to what Rodney was trying to do,

“He’s right you know. I mean, you should really see the state of some of the corpses,” she gestured dramatically his way, “He’s directly responsible for.”

One of the thugs who wasn’t a groaning heap on the floor was beginning to look nervous, Biro continued,

“I mean… I’ve never seen anything quite like it. And as a pathologist, let me tell you, I’ve pretty much seen everything that can be done to the human body and _then some_.”

Zelenka piped up,

“Yes yes, she is right. Rodney is small, vicious, petty man. Who happily takes out base urges on colleagues and enemies.”

McKay felt one side of his mouth tilt up in a grimace. It seemed to do the trick. The nearest goon, another shaven headed lump of more muscle than sense, took a step back. Even with a brain the size of a walnut, he could read the room. Rodney readjusted his sweaty grip on his sidearm and leaned into the role he’d suddenly found himself cast in,

“Oh yes, you wouldn’t _believe_ how _high_ the turnover rate is in my department.” He channelled the terror and rage that no one else was doing anything shine in his delivery, he had wanted to be an actor once upon a time, “And guess what? The new recruits come in to replace the dead ones. It’s a _literal_ example of dead men’s boots in action.”

Miko and Zelenka both nodded sagely. Miko, Rodney noted, took the opportunity to move a step closer to the thug nearest to her.

The best lies were always close to the truth.

“You’ve gotta come with us. Or, or we’ll start shooting!”

Simpson’s grip on her purloined gun was steady as she gestured Zelenka over to a more defensible position. Rodney let the full force of his temper come to bear,

“Oh, really? I presume your bosses wanted us alive. Or are you too stupid to realise what sort of punishment you’d earn if your quarry turned up dead?” Rodney waved a hand to forestall the obvious response, “No, no, don’t answer that. I can tell you don’t have the intelligence to have been sent on this sort of job.”

Simpson, who’d been doing a great job covering three of the bad guys with her gun, whilst casually standing on the downed guy’s fingers, gestured emphatically,

“There’s witnesses here. Don’t force us to do something you’ll regret.”

As if there’d been a signal, the Lanteans practically moved as one. Rodney ducked as the talkative thug finally lost patience and fired a couple of rounds his way, he shot back, aiming for the other man’s foot. He hit a knee. He’d been aiming for his foot. But hey! He was improving. No more shooting blindly with his eyes closed! The man went down with a howl.

Miko, meanwhile, had climbed her chosen thug like a tree. He was already on the ground in a groaning heap. They did say, you always had to look out for the quiet ones. She’d really taken those Pegasus 101 defence lessons to heart.

Radek tackled his thug, they were in a scrappy snarling heap on the floor. By sheer viciousness, Radek seemed to be winning. Zelenka was willing to use fingernails, pull hair, and even bite. The bigger man should have overwhelmed the little Czech engineer, but from the blood and the screams, Zelenka had a chunk of the man’s ear in his mouth. Oh wait no, that was a piece of nose.

Rodney cautiously fired off another shot, this time hitting the targeted foot successfully. The guy he’d hit started screaming like a little girl. Hah! Take that bully who dares sully science!

The retort of another gun firing was deafening in the convention hall.

People were screaming and running.

Rodney looked around desperately trying to work out who’d been hurt.

Oh, _oh_, Simpson had taken down two more of the mysterious bad guys with her confiscated gun. Good for her. She’d been rather more ruthless than Rodney, one of them had a sucking chest wound, the other was staring disbelievingly at the bloody mass that used to be his thigh.

That left two thugs.

Panic struck.

Rodney spun, hunted for Biro. It took a long moment to parse what he was seeing. Once the panicked haze departed, Rodney blinked and the bloody image in front of him resolved into a chillingly familiar sight. The pathologist was cheerfully tending to what looked like a compound fracture in the man’s arm. The thug was on the floor, tears running down his face and whimpering. Rodney caught a snatch of,

“Now now, big strong man like you, don’t be such a _baby_!”

Before the conversation was drowned out by the poor guy’s yell, as Biro casually reset the bone with an audible crunch. Rodney deliberately turned his back on the gory sight. The last thug was a breeze to take down after that.

He dropped his gun hastily to the floor and held his hands up in clear capitulation.

Rodney kept a wary draw on the lot of them.

After what felt like an absolute age, his heart hammering in his chest the whole time, seriously _how_ did Sheppard always act so casual when he did stuff like this? The convention security and the police swarmed into the hall.

Very rapidly the nine men were in handcuffs or restrained to medical gurneys. Though not before there was a tense moment when it looked as if the Lanteans would have to spend the night in the cells themselves. It was the thug still who’d surrendered who ended the standoff. Completely ignoring his glowering colleagues, he confessed to _everything_. The thugs who weren’t writhing in the not so tender care of the paramedics, looked increasingly angry as the sorry story of a last-minute kidnap job spilled out of the weaselly would-be-mercenary’s mouth. The issue was settled when several of their fellow conference-attendees spoke up, singing praises of how brave the Lanteans had been, saving the whole hall from the terrible scary gunmen. All the mercenaries seemed to decide to surrender to the authorities at once after that.

Rodney had never been so relieved to surrender to the local authorities in his life.

“Doctor Rodney McKay PhD PhD. Myself and my companions are civilian contractors with the United States Air Force. These men,” Rodney gestured emphatically, “Made an attempt on Doctor Simpson’s person. We defended ourselves.”

“Right! They tried to kidnap me. Miko helped take him down.”

Simpson gestured at Miko; the police blinked in disbelief at the quintet of apparently scholarly types who’d just held their own against eight intimidating armed men. The guy Biro had been practicing her bedside manner on whimpered in fear when she looked at him. Even the police looked nervous at Zelenka’s bloodily grinning visage.

***

“I will begin spacing members of your crew if you do not give yourself up Colonel Carter.”

Sam cursed.

“One crewmember every hour. You have an hour to hand yourself in before you’re directly responsible for the death of one of your subordinates. Commander Kiva out.”

Sam had holed up in the engineering complex, with the secondary hyperdrive systems, and the door barricaded. Ronon cleared the way, Sam had taken advantage of his chaos to work some of her own. She was desperately trying to reroute power so the boarders wouldn’t be able to completely take over the ship’s systems.

As it was, Sam was concerned they might have already taken the bridge. Deliberately abandoned or not. The enemy were gaining ground in her ship far too quickly for Carter’s liking. The last radio chatter she’d heard before she’d been forced to hole up in here to sabotage her own damned ship had been alarming, people were fighting in pockets all over the ship, and now Kiva was threatening to throw people out of the airlock.

Sam knew the decision to trick the LA into fighting their way towards the bridge had been the correct one. But her inability to be there to protect her subordinates while all this was coming down on them burned. It was like the gut punch of stepping through Atlantis’s stargate to Earth and getting the news that she wouldn’t be allowed back to help her people all over again. Only this time, it had been _her_ choice.

Still, she’d achieved what she’d set out to do. Kiva would never gain control of the ship’s primary systems. They were locked out of all Asgard technology, which included the hyperdrives and the weapons, and even if they successfully took the bridge, the Lucian Alliance would be unable to override Sam’s command codes.

Now, to rescue her people.

Sam only hoped she could come up with a solution in time. There was someone in the ship’s systems fighting her, the LA hacker had slowed her down at every turn. Hopefully that delay wouldn’t prove fatal. Carter needed to regain control of her ship.

With a flash of inspiration Sam knew what she was going to do, she opened the ship wide comms,

“All crew. Code Persephone. I repeat Code Persephone.”

Sam could only hope that everyone on board had read their briefing packets, if not finished the 0g training. Taking a moment to brace herself on the nearest handhold, Sam reached down into the guts of the crystalline array in front of her and yanked out the crystal that controlled the artificial gravity.

Immediately, she was on the float.

The minimal 0.1g thrust of the sub-light engines began pushing her gently towards the nearest wall. Damn. If she had any say in the design of the next generation of Earth’s BC-300 series fleet, Sam would make sure that the decks were arranged perpendicular to the direction of thrust next time, as opposed to aligned parallel with thrust.

She rechecked that the bulkhead to engineering was sealed. And got working on the more complex job of sabotaging life-support in select compartments in her ship. This was going to be a much tougher job. There were several layers of redundancies and backups built into these systems to prevent Carter from doing exactly what she was about to attempt.

***

The radio that up until that moment had been dead let out a burst of static, then a voice echoed tinnily across the line,

“Hello? Anyone alive in there? This is Colonel Telford. I repeat any survivors?”

“Telford! It’s good to hear your voice. O’Neill here inside Homeworld Command.”

“General, good to hear you too sir.”

“I’ve got Davis and Airman O’Donnell here with me. We took out one ‘Airman Evans’ who was pretending to be one of ours.”

“Everyone okay in there?”

“Yeah sure, you betcha… Only flesh wounds.”

As expected, the Monty Python reference either flew straight over Telford’s head or went completely ignored,

“Good good, glad to hear you’re all okay in there.”

“What the hell happened?”

“There’s been an attack. A cloaked Alliance cargo ship was detected on approach. It crashed into the building on the inner North side. They almost hit the Pentagon too, but the Snakeskinners intercepted them in time.”

“Crap.”

“I know sir. It’s not looking good out here. The SGC is out of contact, and we’re getting reports from all over the place about attacks on personnel.”

O’Neill cursed more vehemently this time.

“Listen sir I’ve been talking to our intelligence people and they all agree. There’s no way a lone cargo ship would try an attack on Homeworld Command without packing a little something extra.”

Jack resisted the urge to keep cursing. Davis and O’Donnell were already looking nervous at the exchange as it was. Instead he asked rhetorically,

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

Wisely Telford didn’t respond to the tone of his voice, only the question,

“We think there may be a bomb onboard, as yet unexploded. You have to get the hell out of there.”

O’Neill grimly trudged forwards for a few more minutes. They got to the nearest cross-junction and were met with an impassable wall of rubble.

Davis and O’Donnell both looked resigned. O’Neill sighed, and clicked the radio back on,

“David.”

“Yes sir?”

“Looks like our nearest way out is blocked, how’s it coming with that bomb disposal unit?”

“So far not so good. There’s a lot of debris, they can’t dig through it. We’ve got heavier equipment on the way, but by the time they get here… I don’t know.”

“What kind of bomb are we talking about?”

“Intelligence suggests it’s a weapons-grade naquadria device with a probable yield of 50 to 70 megatons. We’ve already started evacuations. If it goes it’s going to take out most of DC.”

O’Neill eyed up his fellow airmen with bleak horror,

“Well, that sounds like the source of our radiation doesn’t it, Davis?”

As one, the three of them turned to stare at what O’Neill had noticed at the far end of the hall. The outline of a shape that looked _horribly_ like a Tel’tak was barely visible in the gloom,

“Wanna bet that’s where our bomb is gentlemen? Shall we make our way there?”

“Sir! You don’t know anything about defusing bombs!”

“Actually,” O’Donnell spoke up nervously, “I did three tours in A-stan defusing IEDs sir.”

“See? We’ve got someone inside.”

Telford sounded insultingly panicked over the crackling connection,

“No sir, I cannot allow you to volunteer for something like this.”

“You’re not _allowing_ me to do anything Colonel. I’m _ordering_. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if that bomb goes off.”

O’Neill cut the radio and turned to O’Donnell,

“Airman I need a run down on bomb disposal 101.” He frowned, “Wait, Airman? How are you still an Airman after three tours?”

O’Donnell looked embarrassed,

“Got busted down after I disobeyed orders at the SGC sir.”

“Who’s orders?”

O’Neill asked incredulously, looking at O’Donnell suspiciously. Jack just couldn’t think of anyone at Stargate Command who’d give orders bad enough to justify that kind of disobedience,

“Colonel Telford sir. He… look we lost 37 people that day because of him! I told him it was a terrible idea. I was right. He _still_ busted me.”

Jack winced, ah, yes. Right. That.

The grinding noise when he’d been on the radio earlier suddenly made sense. O’Donnell must have turned his molars to dust by now.

They were still dealing with the repercussions from that absolute shitstorm. And Jack had a sinking feeling that there was more stuff coming down the line they hadn’t even thought of yet,

“Damn son, I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe once this whole disaster has been sorted, we can work something out. I’ve seen nothing that would imply you’re a bad serviceman.”

“Th- thank you sir.”

He met Davis’s shocked gaze. Why hadn’t he heard about this?

***

Nurse Witsig always wondered what the story was; this strange child, stuck in an asylum with all these hopeless long-term adult cases. It wasn’t right. Who would possibly send a child to a long-term care facility rather than a special needs school that could at least raise him? Especially one such as this that focussed on caring for people with incurable progressive brain damage. The majority of the other patients here had Alzheimer’s advanced enough that they needed round the clock care, since they couldn’t feed themselves, let alone remember their own names.

And then there was the child.

She continued her rounds, humming pleasantly as she checked in on her little dears. Perhaps one of these days the child’s caretakers would deign to check in on the boy’s condition, and Witsig would give them a piece of her mind. Leaving a _boy_ in a place such as thi-

Commandos dressed all in black smashed their way into the ward. They were heavily armed with huge terrifying looking guns.

“Please! Don’t hurt anyone! This is a hospital!”

The men, looking frighteningly as if they were military, moved as an efficient unit. It was like when the doctors acted in unison to deal with a medical situation, however all that skill was directed towards competent lethality, rather than to save a life.

They grabbed the boy and shouldered her aside. The nearest soldier sneered at her as if she wasn’t worth the attention,

“For the Alliance! Indolent Tau’ri sat fat in your ivory towers.” 

***

TJ had a moment to panic. Code Persephone. Prepare for 0g, fetch your mag-boots.

Only Tamara was on the wrong side of the damned line.

One moment she’d been inventorying bandages under Doctor Brightman’s supervision in the Daedalus class ship’s infirmary, nervously listening to the ship’s superstructure rumbling with every hit on the shields, the next she was surrounded by angry people wearing leather.

For all that she’d been certified for gate travel and recommended by the taciturn light bird who’d headed her squad for some reason, TJ had never felt more unprepared. She tried to follow everyone else’s lead, act casual, act unconcerned. Don’t give away that you’re suddenly clinging onto the bolted down gurney for dear life for a reason.

Free fall.

Captain Cadman lashed out at the nearest Lucian Alliance guard, but, no mag boots. Unused to 0g, both Cadman and the man she’d been attacking were sent hurtling off in opposite directions from each other. It was like a giant three-dimensional game of pool. And Tamara never had been much good at that game.

***

O’Neill stared bleakly at the form of the Tel’tak.

“So, this is where all that radiation was coming from.”

“Yessir.”

In Davis’s hand the Geiger counter was clicking ominously.

“And if we get any closer, we’re looking at a fatal dose?”

“Yessir.”

“And Telford says there’s a bomb somewhere in the building.”

“Yessir.”

Davis’s face looked bleakly ironic.

“Yeah… Tell me about it.” Jack grimaced, “Wanna bet it’s in there?”

Airman O’Donnell spoke up,

“Sucker’s bet sir.”

“One of us needs to get down there and disarm that thing.”

As one, the three of them turned to stare down the corridor towards the source of the radiation.

“Look, sirs, you’re both too important to lose. I’m not.”

“O’Donell! Don’t!”

The airman stepped back out of easy grabbing range, and saluted,

“It’s been an honour sirs.”

With that the young man ran down the hallway, O’Neill made as if to follow him, but Davis held him back.

“Come back here!”

Major- _Lieutenant Colonel_ Davis dragged O’Neill bodily away from harm, he spun to glare at him,

“Sir. Sir! It’s too late.”

“I’ve got to try!”

Still bodily clutching at O’Neill’s bicep, Davis gestured vehemently at the doorway that stood a few feet away,

“As soon as he crossed that threshold, he was a dead man.”

“I know I know, exponential decay. God _dammit_! He’s just a kid.”

***

James couldn’t help noticing the parallels with the training exercise as they fought their way towards level 25. She was there to make sure no one got the drop on Captain Satterfield when the senior officer got busy with tech support. Vanessa was glad for the unexpected help, the FGO made it much more likely they’d stop the spread of the madness emanating from the sphere. Back at the labs they’d made sure everyone in the group knew the embarkation room isolation procedure, and each had a sample of the sedative. But the woman next to her genuinely understood all this science stuff.

Greer and Brown were heading up to find the officer in charge, with the backup, just in case. All James had to do make sure it wouldn’t be needed.

The invaders were using the same strategy she and Sheppard had during the training exercise - in reverse. Despite the evacuation lockdown, and orders to enact the Mu formation, the enemy were progressively worming their way up through the mountain. The thing in the gate room made it too difficult to work out what was happening, the invaders were pushing affected personnel out ahead of them in waves. Every time it went off, more of their people were turned. Even up here, above the madness of the sphere, with access between levels deliberately cut off, there was a pointed lack of personnel on their side.

They struggled through the scrum to the lower levels and made it to level 26, with its crucial separation from the levels above and the useful spiral staircase. James had seen the footage in the lab security station, just as horrified as everyone else at the images playing out. They seemed to confirm Teal’c’s hypothesis. The gateroom had been crowded. Colonel Coburn and SG-2 due to escort Colonel Edward’s large mining team, preparing to head out to a prolonged negotiation session when everything went down.

From what she’d said, Captain-Doctor Satterfield had been on science duty up with the true geeks when the dual lockdown/military personnel to duty stations, civilians evacuate, alarms sounded. James figured someone from special ops tailing the Captain, who was more geek than FGO, could only be of the good. Hopefully Greer and Brown were safely up at the infirmary level by now, with Lam, Becker, Teal’c, and the rest of the plant nerds. James couldn’t help the frisson of guilt that she’d let them go, one civilian and one soldier. But they _had_ to get this stuff down there.

Teal’c’s crucial information to stop the enemy from getting any further with their invasion wasn’t exactly gold standard intel. Though the guy was the closest thing they had to a native source when they’d come up with this plan, James couldn’t help but be nervous about intelligence that was little better than locker room rumour, distilled down across the millennia.

The sphere, whatever it was, was deadly. They had to stop it, before the enemy walked unaccosted through the base, and turned more of their own people against them. James tried not to hesitate as she made her way to the emergency air recirculatory cut off and prepared to press the big red button. They might condemn everyone down here to slow poisoning, the plant guys had been cagey about the effects of this crap. But Vanessa couldn’t see how they had much in the way of choice.

Satterfield wasn’t faring any better than she was, shooting at their own people taking its toll, the petite woman was lugging around all manner of scientific equipment to boot. James knew their oh-so-simple plan wasn’t anywhere near simple. The sheer amount of gear the petite Captain was hauling, proof of that. She dreaded to think what would have happened if they’d followed the letter of the original plan, and James had gone in on her own.

Twice now, Satterfield had saved her hide, when a goonified SF or marine had nearly gotten the drop on her. It was damn near impossible to tell which side was which in the chaos.

Finally, they got to the tiny, yet crucial, cupboard.

James watched their six as Satterfield made her way through the onerous process of initiating the air cycler switchover. All the warnings were there for a damned good reason, but better level 28 become inaccessible than everyone in the mountain being exposed to the zombifying sphere. The whole Mu thing just wasn’t doing its job. James couldn’t quite believe no one had accounted for stuff like this when they’d written the protocols, but then again, wishes and horses and all.

There was gunfire.

Not the distinctive psst of zats. But bullets.

“We’re about to have company!”

“One more minute!”

She ducked and wove her way closer to the gate room, making sure to keep herself between the enemy and the captain’s vulnerable back. Satterfield needed to hurry up and plug that canister in. Knock everyone out. Stop the sphere turning anyone else. Couldn’t be turned if you were unconscious.

They could sort out who was friend and who was foe once they’d all been knocked out.

James squeezed herself against the curved buttress of the tunnel, the isolation air recirculation unit for the bottom three levels was located right in a corridor junction. Which was proving both an obstacle and a boom. Even as she winged someone who should have been on her side with her stunner, Vanessa found herself grateful for the cover the strange space was providing them. 

She could only hope the emergency air supply kits they’d scrounged from the lab levels would have enough gas left in them that they’d be able to get out of here once the deed was done.

“Got it!”

Satterfield’s exclamation was quiet by necessity, but James could have rejoiced. Zats were fine and all, but sooner or later the people she was hitting would get up again, and James had no idea how long it took to be able to safely fire a second shot.

James scrambled for the mouthpiece of the emergency air kit and got it on. Satterfield reappeared from the central air supply unit and locked the cabinet behind her. The captain signalled that they should get going to their secondary target. James signed back the affirmative, they both rechecked each other’s tanks, and prepared to wade down into the heart of enemy held territory.

Already, the sedative gas the plant guys knocked up was staining the air a sickly green. It hung thickly, cloying like the stuff that came out of a smoke grenade. The pair of them zatted anyone they came across as they began the final trek down to the gate room. They had to double check that the gate was shut off. The order had almost certainly been inputted to the computer when the evacuation command was given, but… what with the hypnosis machine and all, they couldn’t take any chances that someone hadn’t undone it.

Not for the first time James wished she had the codes Sheppard had used to such effect. They fought their way through a confused mass of invaders, in their distinctive leather outfits, and SGC personnel who were fighting both the invaders and each other. Between the gas, and their zats it didn’t take long to knock out the people on this level, and ziptie them. However, James had been mentally counting down their airtime ever since they’d started using the canned stuff, and every delay made it less likely they’d get back out.

Finally, they got to the conference room on level 26, with the stairs that dropped down, first into Landry’s office, then gate room operations. If it took them this long going the other way, they’d be out of clean air before they got away from the isolated gate levels.

Satterfield looked like she was about to do something stupidly self-sacrificial, James recognised the expression,

“Nononono Satterfield. I am _not_ going to let you do a Sheppard.”

The USAF Captain stared at her blankly.

“He looked down at the mess through the conference room window. Muttered ‘I always wanted to try Parkour’. Didn’t tell me the plan. Just had me help him set up the tear gas. Next thing I know he’s nearly broken his neck jumping out of that window.”

James gestured at the window in question. To her gratification, Satterfield paled a couple of shades as she gauged the height. Yeah, Vanessa figured she wasn’t alone in her dual admiration and belief that the Atlantis CO was certifiable.

The pair looked out through the window at the gate room below.

“Wanna use the gate to destroy the sphere before it gets us?”

“No! We don’t know how to undo it, we need it intact to study.”

“Captain – Doc… Look are _we_ going to turn any minute? Do you even _know_?”

It had been the big flaw in their plan. The elephant in the room.

Satterfield shot her a dark look,

“I guess if either one of us was gonna start frothing, we’d have done it by now.”

Great, another Sheppard. What was it with superiors and being quietly batshit around here? If the myths were to be believed O’Neill was the worst of the lot, though James had never seen him in action herself. Satterfield eyed the gate room clinically,

“Worse than Waikiki beach when the tourists get off the cruise ships.” 

It was difficult to cling to her dispassionate façade as they watched the scene play out below them. No one could tell friend from foe. Not that the other side cared. The guys in leather were happily shooting anyone SGC, brainwashed or not.

James started whistling into the dark as the gas finally began to take ahold of the people below,

“So, Hawaii?”

“Yeah, grew up on Kaua’i.”

“Cool, Pittsburgh.”

Satterfield gave her a look of horror,

“Oh, you poor thing.”

James shot her a grin that was wholly teeth in retaliation. Satterfield turned her attention fully on the people in the embarkation room,

“Looks like we have a go. Ready L.T?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Squinting at the sluggishly writhing forms in the gate room, James put herself in the guard position, and signalled she’d be watching Grace’s six. They ran to the blast door, tersely Satterfield nodded at her, James just had the time to make out her fingers flying over the wiring in the door controls, before moving into the gate room. 

The blast door narrowed the gap in the doorway to a foot, before shuddering to a hault behind them.

They both had extra ammo, and crowd control gear. Though honestly, tear gas wasn’t much good against this sort of mindless violence. It was backup, in case the sedative hadn’t quite kicked in. The damned stuff relied on their targets being _sane_ enough to _notice_ they were choking to work. Just making the crazies cough wouldn’t do much good when they were more concerned with tearing each other to pieces.

Taking turns to check their twelve o’clock and their six, the pair eased their way into the gate room. The blast doors _should_ have been locked tight long before they’d triggered the gas. The lockdown alarm sounded, everything on base sealed to strategically allow for civilian evacuation, and bottlenecking the gate, as soon as Mu protocol was enacted. James knew the protocol; she’d witnessed it a few times.

Cautiously they made their way into the still room.

The scrum had reduced the usually pristine gate room to a hellish sight, on par with anything James had witnessed in Iraq. The concrete walls were smeared with blood. Even though everyone else was down, barely a foot in front of James’ face the remains of SG-2 were _still_ rabidly trying to tear each other to pieces. They stunned them. It took a zat to keep them down. Navigating around the chaos, they made their way towards the power junction that directly controlled the gate.

A random attacker leapt out of the green haze, backlit by the eerily visible blue glow of the still active gate and started blasting at everything in sight with a staff weapon. It was only pure dumb luck, that saved them. Satterfield was wedged into the corner next to the gate, trying to disconnect the naquadah ring from the power couplings. James watching her back, making sure the Captain had an exfil site through the side-door to the embarkation armoury. They hadn’t been spotted by the invaders.

It was distasteful as hell, but Colonel Edwards’ slumped form provided the perfect cover as they crouched by the gate control junction box. The obscuring haze of the green gas, and the Colonel’s unconscious position propped up in the corner, obscured them just enough to make the risky attempt.

Satterfield did it.

With a loud noise, that attracted the attention of the fresh invaders, the Captain successfully separated the gate from the breaker box linking it into the grid. The gate immediately dropped the connection. James started cursing under her breath even as she brought her borrowed zat up to bear on the enemy that started paying attention to their presence. She and Satterfield both dragged Edwards out of there, he’d been shot, and then exposed to whatever the hell the sphere was spewing for far too long. Never mind the plant gas. Besides, James shared the opinion of the marines and Sheppard. Never leave a man behind. A short burst of fire held them back for just long enough to retreat to the corridor, and the relative safety the bottleneck offered.

James and Satterfield just managed to hold off the enemy long enough for the blast door to ponderously slide shut between them and the gate room.

Vanessa heaved a breath of relief and turned to raid the level 28 armoury. Taking a leaf out of Sheppard’s book she went for the flash grenades and other crowd control measures. That sorta crap turned out to be hellaciously effective during the training exercises, and James saw no reason not to use it again.

“Think we did it?”

“Definitely.”

James turned to Satterfield in the gloom, and noticed that the captain was clutching the brainwashing sphere that Teal’c had spoken of in such scary tones,

“What the hell, Captain?”

“Give me a minute.”

James waited tensely as the captain turned the sphere over and over, before cracking it open.

“Nearly there…”

With an anticlimactic click the background hum, that James hadn’t even noticed, stopped.

The silence was shocking.

Vanessa hadn’t even realised she’d had a headache.

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

***

Ronon didn’t have a clue what a ‘Code Persephone was. He soon found out. One moment he was dodging energy blasts from those funny little guns the guys in leather all seemed to be carrying. The next he drifted towards the ceiling when gravity turned off mid-stride, and his momentum kept carrying him upwards.

It was fucking disconcerting, but the other guys reacted worse.

Ronon figured _space_ pirates would be more used to this space stuff than he was. But somehow, not. Cool.

Taking advantage of their complete panic, Ronon rapidly fired off a series of shots from his gun, and took a moment to be thankful when he realised, that unlike their weapons, _his_ gun didn’t send him floating backwards, or in one guy’s case, spinning around in whimpering circles.

After a few experimental bounds down the hallway, and one hairy moment when he thought he’d misjudged the angle, and had a split second to desperately grab hold of the nearest object so that he wouldn’t be stuck free-floating in the middle of the corridor with nothing to push off against – Ronon made his way through the decks of the ship towards the sounds of fighting.

***

Reynolds cursed his newly healed arm as he climbed up the SGC’s emergency access shaft, it may officially be healed, but it still ached from disuse and the break. He hoped to use the lessons learned when Sheppard had so effectively staged his run against the base, not that the colonel knew that that’s what he was doing at the time.

Albert almost sighed in relief when he got to level 16, and the security bunker. Only a few of their invaders had gotten up this far yet. Reynolds knew they’d been herded up here to see what their goal was. For all that they clearly knew a lot about Stargate Command, the precaution of not including the bunker on the schematics, and only telling a few trusted officers about its existence, meant the main target on this floor seemed to be the armoury.

Reynolds got inside, and hastily entered his code, putting the base into full lockdown. Throughout the SGC the remaining open bulkheads slid shut with a clang. Anyone who hadn’t heeded the evacuation warnings by now had to fend for themselves.

From his position Albert could see the infirmary was under siege, and the gate was still open. The command to shut it off didn’t work up here either. Hopefully the 38 minutes rule would still hold true.

It had been less than an hour since this had all started. He couldn’t quite believe it. Already the scuttlebutt was that civilians had been snatched. The worst rumour was the one about the visiting Senator. Reynolds hoped like hell _that_ wasn’t true.

From the safety of the security bunker he watched in stunned amazement the chaos that was everything below level 25. The only people who looked at all organised were the leather clad forms of their invaders, SGC personnel were trying to fend off both the invaders and each other. And what the hell was up with the green gas that had flooded levels 26 through 28? Albert suppressed the expression of dread that he could feel trying to worm its way up his face. He was an officer, he needed to act like one.

The SFs whose job it was to constantly monitor the base from within the secret control room looked relieved,

“Sitrep?”

“You got here just in time sir. Those bulkheads bought the people in the infirmary several hours of safety, they only had minutes before.”

“Good. Anything else I should know?”

“There’s people trapped on level 28 sir. It looks like Captain Satterfield is pinned down, but the insurgents haven’t spotted her. Colonel Edwards might be in trouble sir.”

“Don’t sugar coat it, is he down?”

“Hard to say sir, before they managed to pull him out of the gate room, I saw him take a gut shot.”

Reynolds winced. That… that didn’t sound good.

“Who’s Officer of the Day?”

“I don’t know who it is sir, it should have been Colonel Dixon… But… And Landry left for Washington before this all started. The general is safe for the time being.”

This time Reynolds did let the dismay show in his expression, crap, no one knew who was in charge?!

The SF hastened to continue, “There’s been radio chatter. Some of the Lanteans and a marine managed to fend off the invaders trying to get above their level and barricade the area. The bad guys didn’t seem to think it was worth it for a couple of scientists and some grunts when their tenth operative went down.”

Crap that probably meant he was in the hot seat didn’t it? Albert wasn’t even supposed to be on active duty, what with his damned arm.

“So, for the main, the Lucian Alliance are stuck below level 22?”

“Yessir. They clearly know about but haven’t found the escape hatch.”

“Well, that makes things simpler.”

“It does sir?”

“Yes, have contingencies in place to stop stuff like this. When the wraith invaded, we very nearly had to use them. But it means everyone in the infirmary is still safe.”

Comprehension dawned on the airman’s face.

“Yeah, Lam and everyone that couldn’t be moved are still on level 21.”

“Yes, and everyone below that has to fend for themselves.”

He turned to the red phone that sat innocuously in the corner of the security bunker and prepared to initiate base quarantine procedure, known as the Wildfire Directive. The external blast doors to the surface would seal themselves shut, NORAD would be shut off from the outside world, and the Greater Cheyenne Mountain Complex itself would go into full lockdown.

At that moment the radio crackled,

“Come in, this is Captain Satterfield, can anyone hear me?”

Reynolds caught the SFs eye, he looked just as nonplussed as Albert felt. Gingerly, and feeling ridiculous at his hesitance Reynolds reached out and clicked the respond button,

“We read you Captain, what’s your status?”

“We have successfully shut down the device the Alliance were using to turn our personnel. Requesting assistance. There’s a whole lotta people down here who’re going to be waking up in a bad mood any minute now, and there’s no way to tell who’s on our side.”

Reynolds gestured impatiently for the SF to get a visual confirmation, sure enough the gate room was filled with unconscious slumped figures on the concrete floor. It was a disturbing sight, made more so by the green haze that hung in a pall over the floor, making the slumped forms look dead.

With a sinking feeling Reynolds realised that he was the de facto officer in charge,

“Any way to verify this isn’t a trick Captain?”

“Uh…” There was a distinct pause, “Lieutenant James says to tell you that we already played this game out a few weeks ago sir? And that the reruns are getting old now?”

Albert let out an explosive breath. That cheekiness from the AFSOC newbie was confirmation enough. It was over.

“Alright Captain. Thank you. I’ll be sending down a Force Recon team and a few SFs to help. What do I need to know about the ongoing situation?”

A moment later a loud banging on the security bunker door made them both jump,

“Sir! Sir do not activate the self-destruct! Sir!”

Even muffled through a foot of steel the voice was audible, Reynolds checked that it was a friendly, before he opened the bulkhead,

“Sir!”

A marine master sergeant and two geeks were panting on the other side of the threshold.

“Please! I’m Doctor Katie Brown, we found a peaceful solution.”

“At ease sergeant.” He nodded to the doctor, “So I’d heard. Tell me all about it.”

***

Cam groaned in relief, salvation. In the form of a Denny’s, but hey, desperate times and all.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about!”

Sheppard raised an eyebrow at him in condescending disbelief, the snob.

He and Sheppard staggered into the restaurant, probably looking more like a pair of hobos than anything else, but, hey it was a Denny’s, no one so much as raised an eyebrow.

Thankful that he somehow had change in his pockets, Cam pointed Sheppard in the direction of the payphone, and didn’t so much hint as emphatically suggest that the other man should get a table whilst he made a call. Of course, Cam was most of the way there when the guy behind the till called out,

“Phones are customers only!”

“Crap.”

Cam shoved the still hesitating Sheppard towards a table and hastily grabbed a menu,

“I can’t believe I’m in a _Denny’s_.”

Cam growled a quick, “Shut up Shep.”

“Denny’s!”

“Quit your bitchin Sheppard. It’s a good thing it _is_ a Denny’s – anywhere else would have kicked us out by now.”

Sheppard pulled a face, Cam tried not to laugh at him hysterically. It wasn’t his fault all this crap had gone down. Cam was a _colonel_ in the United States Air Force for chrissakes! _He_ should be the one keeping it together. The waiter came around, looking thoroughly disinterested in the pair of them,

“Hi…” Her tone was flat and bored, “My name is Laura, I’ll be your waitress today. Is everything okay? You find everything you wanted?”

Cam was amused by her complete ennui towards her job,

“I’ll have a coffee please, black.” Cam’s stomach grumbled, he inspected the contents of his miraculously present wallet and decided he had enough cash. Couldn’t risk the cards right now. But he had plenty of notes. Cam eyed Sheppard, who looked just as tired as he felt, and aw to hell with it, “And I’ll have the Grand Slam. Eggs over easy.”

Cam folded up his laminated menu and leaned back, trying to work out their next move. Sheppard pulled a face at the menu, he took an inordinate amount of time over a simple decision asked,

“Could I get the French toast?”

“How’d you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled please.”

“Anything to drink?”

“White coffee please.”

The man was ridiculously polite. After the waitress strolled off, Cam made sure no one was watching them suspiciously. He subtly eyed up the other customers, and once sure no one was paying him any mind, made his way over to the payphones. Cam dialled the SGC and rattled off his ident code,

“Colonel Cameron Mitchell. Charlie, Sierra, Romeo, One, Eight, Zulu, Echo. Requesting immediate assistance.”

Cam frowned as he realised with an unpleasant jolt that he’d been redirected to the Big Air Force hot line, well crap. He’d been in the meeting when they’d set this all up, if the SGC wasn’t picking up, first redirect was to Homeworld, then the NID, and then the IOA, then the guys at Area 51… And then… Well there was definitely more on that list. Point was things had to be seriously FUBARed for Mitchell to have gotten through to _these_ guys.

Crap. His Momma was right, his super-secret day job was gonna get him in trouble someday. Cam just hadn’t expected the hammer blow to come during such a mundane day on good ole planet Earth. He’d been expecting to go out with a bang fighting off the Ori, or the snakes, or hell even the Lucian Alliance. Not after what could well be a case of pilot error, if what Sheppard senior here kept grumbling was anywhere close to the truth.

He sat down at their booth with a pained sigh. Shep looked up at him sharply,

“What was that all about Colonel Mitchell? Is help on the way?”

“Not now Shep.”

“No! I’ve just about had enough of this. I’ve been in a plane crash, I’ve been shot at, I carried your ungrateful behind through miles and miles of desert. And my name isn’t _Shep_, or Sheppard or any other military nonsense you toy soldiers all like to pretend. I am not my brother! It’s David Sheppard. David. Not Dave. David. And if you can’t manage that, it’s _Mister_ Sheppard.”

Crap. Cam ran a hand down his face, and grimaced, he was getting too old for this.

***

Rush wondered where they were taking them. The others would not wake up. They were trussed up like prized fucking livestock, bundled in the back of a gold walled van that smelt as if something had died inside it. To add insult to injury, they’d been piled in an undignified heap, and Rush was at the bottom.

He could tell that Vala was there, it was her distinctive black hair making his face itch after all, and one of her barrettes was pressing into his cheekbone uncomfortably. But he wasn’t sure who else had been caught. It all happened so fast.

One minute they were in the ricketiest fucking plane Rush had even seen. The next Mitchell had been shouting about incoming, Sheppard sounding far too calm as he executed moves that had Rush fair fucking grateful that motion sickness wasn’t a thing he’d ever tended to – as the horizon wasn’t up but sideways, the ceiling and…

Rush only hoped that whatever these people wanted of them; they’d survive it.

Things got blurry after that, light, a surreal image of a melted gun, the madness of suddenly being somewhere else, gold and oily, blue, darkness, an impact, getting dragged along, sand, panicked breathing, Vala pushing him down, another burst of blue, then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of lines of dialogue lifted from SGU episodes _Air_, and _Alliances_.
> 
> FGO: – field grade officer
> 
> Butterbar: – slightly derogatory term for 2nd Lieutenants, aka freshly qualified officers straight out of school who technically outrank Master Sergeants and other NCOs who’ve been in the forces for 30+ years… Nickname comes from the shape of their gold shiny new rank badge, and implies they’re as much use as a…
> 
> Grateful thanks to [ImpiousImp](/users/ImpiousImp/) – who had a suggestion for the foothold that was desperately needed. They pointed out that in amongst the vast swathe of Stargate media, the Goa’uld canonically had a mass-insanity hypnosis device. My first draft of the SGC invasion plotline veered painfully close to accidentally wholesale plagiarising CWRs brilliantly awful foothold in Mathematique (seriously people can’t reccie CWR enough). Not only was it a subconscious rewrite, it was a _bad_ rewrite.
> 
> Yeah… Just as there’s an Expanse easter egg in every chapter, there are easter eggs referencing the fact that Michael Rooker played Yondu, and Adam Baldwin played Jayne Cobb, and both played Stargate colonels.
> 
> There’s some confusion about Private or Airman Becker’s rank – I’m sure I remember him being referred to as Private in show dialogue, and the wiki claims he’s a member of the Marine Corps… Yet the very same wiki article visibly shows him wearing Air Force BDUs… so…
> 
> Ahem, I hope this plot-dense chunk of chaos was enjoyable! We'll be rejoining our protagonists and things will get back to business as usual, or what passes for it in this tale, in the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dust begins to settle. What happened to the missing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Auburn](/users/Auburn/), who as you may be aware, sadly passed away at the beginning of the year. Their stories really are among the best in SGA fandom. Between the comedic genius of Intercostal Clavical, the harsh adventure of Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves and the brilliantly painful City of the Seven Walls - well thanks to Auburn I think I've seen every possible iteration of the SGA crew, all of them infinitely better written than the parent show. Rest in peace. You will very much be missed even as your transcendental writing lives on.
> 
> WARNING Note the Canon-Typical Violence tag please! And when I say canon-typical, I point out this is the show that graphically showed the back of poor Major Kawalsky's head getting sliced off by the gate, with half his brains and a Goa'uld falling out... And the same verse that spent an entire episode watching Ba'al torturing Jack O'Neill with acid, knives and all sorts of other nasty things... (Shame that, Ba'al was such a cool villain initially, by the end of the show's run he was practically comic-relief) Not to mention the mangled bodies everyone in the Pegasus galaxy, from the Genii to the Wraith tended to leave everywhere! Or the way SGU happily showed one of the lead characters beating the other half to death and deliberately abandoning him to die on a desert planet... Or that graphic scene of open heart surgery in another episode... You have been warned!

** Chapter 7: **

The air was abruptly knocked out of him, as he was dropped heavily on his front, dragging John violently to consciousness. Before he could so much as groan at the shock of the impact, a voice exclaimed,

“Tau’ri scum! Thought you were better than us!”

There was a sharp blow, his side exploded as what was probably a boot connected before John could even think about dodging. Sheppard grinned lazily through a mouthful of bloody teeth, automatically adjusting his expression for maximum insolence. He had no _clue_ what the hell he’d just landed in, but damned if he was gonna let these guys realise he hadn’t caught his bearings. John kept grinning brazenly up at the guys until they backed out of the room. Which, he realised belatedly, was a cell.

A metallic hatch slammed shut as soon as they were through the doorway. Squirming John worked out that he was hogtied hand and foot with what felt like plastic cuffs. Nearly putting a crick in his neck in the process, he stared at the gold walls and ceiling in puzzled disbelief. Who’d snatched them, Trump’s even more tasteless cousin? And what the hell was with the scorpion motif?

A Scottish voice cut across his mystification,

“What the _fuck_ beamed us up?”

After allowing himself a moment of utter _relief_, John wriggled around to try and work out more about where the hell they were. Through the gold metal grill that separated them John could see that in the next cell, Rush too was bound at the wrists and ankles. Though, at least _he_ was sitting, unlike John who was trussed up, stuck, lying uncomfortably on his front. John could tell the other man was working himself into a panic, he recognised all the signs from Rodney’s frequent meltdowns. Unimpressed by Rush’s histrionics John quoted an old favourite,

“I’ve got a theory, bunnies, bunnies it must be BUNNIES!!”

John started in the same singsong tone the show’d used and ended in a shout that broke as he ran out of air due to his awkward position. If anything, through the metal grid Rush looked _more_ nervous. Crap. All similarities aside, John kept forgetting that on several levels Rush was _nothing_ like Rodney. Rush wouldn’t get his stupid pop culture references; just think Shep was having a nervous breakdown or something. John coughed, embarrassed,

“Sorry Doc. Too used to hanging out with someone who’d have gotten that.”

Admittedly they hadn’t been doing all that much hanging out in recent months, even _before_ that harried return to Earth.

There was a chuff of familiar throaty laughter from John’s other side, Vala was there too - a tension John hadn’t realised he’d been holding left him. John near sagged in the restraints. Rush looked quizzically back at John, head tilted like a bird’s, something almost spiteful in his expression. _Good._ If he was busy being angry at John, he wasn’t panicking. John tried to catch a glimpse of Vala in the cell on the other side, but, trussed up as he was, he couldn’t quite manage to get a look at her.

“Vala?”

Her tone was nearly as grumpy as Rush’s,

“_What_ Beautiful?”

“You ok?”

“I’m _fine _S.O,” came back her reply in a tone that strongly implied the opposite - she came across so achingly like Ronon that for a moment John had a flash of sharing a cell in Pegasus. Was it weird to get nostalgic about all the previous times you’d been captured? Before John could get too caught up in his inappropriate moment of mawkishness, the door to the cells opened and a woman walked in looking like nothing more than a corporate lawyer,

“My name is Athena, Tau’ri dogs. And you will bow before your goddess.”

John’s mouth ran away with him before he could think to stop himself,

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a _little_ tied up here. Also, I’m naturally lazy, you’ll _excuse_ me if I don’t get up.”

Worryingly she merely looked coolly at him, something greedy sparkling in her eyes, before turning to Vala’s side of the room.

“Mal Doran.”

Her tone could cut granite. Crap, this wasn’t good. John wished he could see Vala but wishes and horses and all. The woman continued, clearly not expecting a response,

“Yes, I was so pleased to see that my Jaffa had caught you.” Athena said airily, “I hadn’t intended to hunt you down you know, but you were just _there_.”

She smiled like the cat that caught the canary. John, feeling that crick building up in his neck, gave up trying to follow her movements when she wandered out of his field of view, and rested his head on the cool surface of the floor. Screw it. No point putting on a front when the person it was for wasn’t even paying attention. Sheppard subtly worked at the cuffs, earning himself a badly abraded wrist in the process, okay, not plastic cuffs then. Plain old zip ties maybe? The edges on these things were _sharp_.

“I so look forward to getting caught up with you, find out what you’ve been up to with the Tau’ri all these years.”

Vala’s response was surprisingly angry,

“Oh, go to hell Athena. You always were a pox ridden daughter of a whore!”

John figured he must be missing something, but damned if he knew what.

“Touchy touchy Vala. You know that was nothing personal.”

Okay, there was definitely history between them. Good. Well… Okay not good. It could be Kolya all over again, which would be bad. But at least they weren’t completely in the dark here. Vala at least knew what to expect from …Athena.

_Athena_. What a name.

Oh. She was a snake. That explained the name, the god complex, and all the gold. Crap. John felt unforgivably slow in that moment of long-in-the-coming realisation, as if he’d finally lived down to all the imprecations about his intelligence Rodney had spewed over the years.

“Besides Vala you _still_ owe me that information.”

“Oh, _really_, go to _hell_ Athena. Sokar’s castoffs would _welcome_ you!”

John wondered if he could save the host. That had to be a fate as bad as getting fed on by the wraith, only more drawn out.

“You know, you really should be nicer to me Mal Doran. I can make life very unpleasant indeed for you and your little Tau’ri …_pets_.”

That alarming choice of words had John reassessing the situation from, ‘Okay, how do we get out of this?’ to ‘If we don’t get out of this, we are royally _screwed_.’

Disgustedly John realised he still felt guilty even now, that he hadn’t spotted that Caldwell _wasn’t_ Caldwell all those years ago. Too caught up in his own insecurities about whether he’d be allowed to stay on Atlantis to notice the other officer was behaving in a manner that really didn’t fit any Air Force John had ever served in. Though John supposed, he should cut himself some slack, he’d learnt the hard way not to trust the brass years before. The SGC only reconfirmed that tendency when they’d nearly kicked him out of the programme when they’d regained contact, because of damned Ashbrook and his terrible orders back in Afghanistan, _again_.

“Yes… Yes, this _is_ going to be fun.”

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the trite nonsense the Goa’uld was spouting. With a deliberate twist of his thoughts John stopped wool-gathering and tried to pay a bit more attention, since you never knew when a bad guy would spill the beans… but it was so difficult when Athena’s big long monologue of evil boiled down to the usual, ‘Me Advanced Alien! You puny human! Me squash you! Mwahahaha!’ that he’d gotten used to over the years, coming from everyone from the Wraith to the Asurans, and even notably, the Alteran crew of the Tria.

“I shall enjoy watching you struggle as I force you to cooperate…”

What’d even happened to the Tria anyway? Had they _really_ just forgotten about that ship in the void?

“Hell’s too good for you Athena! Just you wait! I’ll drop you from orbit to a certain Ori-ravaged world of my acquaintance, and we’ll see how well you do against an angry mob!”

John zoned back in just in time to realise the evil villain monologue was winding down,

“…And now Vala, I shall find out all about the Tau’ri you’ve decided to align yourselves with.”

Uh oh. That _didn’t_ sound good. She sounded altogether too pleased with herself.

Athena snapped her fingers haughtily,

“Jaffa!” John couldn’t see her, but she must have pointed at someone cause the next thing she said was, “This one.”

The heavy golden door that was the lone dominating feature in his cell slid open. Crap. Looked like he was it. Not that that was a _bad_ thing; better him than the others. John was bodily lifted by the brute squad, and repositioned. They cut the ties at his ankles, barely letting him get his feet, painfully regaining circulation, under him, before he was dragged down the corridor.

“Guess I’ll see you guys later!” John called out, as they forced him, hands still awkwardly tied behind him, along a series of identical looking hallways, each as tacky and gold as the last. He memorised the route, not knowing where they were taking him, but John figured any knowledge he could get about the layout of this place would be of the good.

Briefly John contemplated throwing off his guards and making a run for it, but they were armed, and already sadistically twisting his bound hands uncomfortably upwards ever higher behind his back. He hadn’t even _done anything yet_.

John didn’t want to know what would happen to the others if they decided to get it into their heads to punish them for his behaviour. Unlike the Genii’s fanatic military, they were obviously trained soldiers of the ancient kind, and John really didn’t like the mean look in their eyes. Besides, he’d seen what Teal’c could do. Striding ahead of them like royalty, Athena too seemed to be an altogether different kind of psycho from the type John had gotten far too used to dealing with in Pegasus.

John had a moment to regret that decision to play nice when they arrived at their destination. The first thing he noticed was the stench; a wall of smell hit him when the gold bulkhead whooshed open. The room reeked of the usual cell scents - urine, the sour stench of unwashed bodies… A veritable miasma of bleach and fear. But underlying that, was the cloying, sickly sweet, iron tang of rotting blood.

It wasn’t, as he’d figured, another cell, or even an interrogation room. It was a fucking lab that was as disturbing as anything Michael had come up with in his twisted sick little brain. There were obvious signs of Mengele level insanity here. Which was made all the more alarming by the tacky gold aesthetic that pervaded absolutely everything.

John started struggling then, but it was too late, and the Jaffa were still stronger than he was by an order of magnitude. He squirmed as they cut the cuffs. However, Sheppard was forced over to the wall, which seemed to leap out and grab him the moment he was near. John got a punch to the head for his troubles that left him seeing stars.

When the world stopped spinning, John found himself staring blearily at the weaselly man shackled to the slab across from him. He looked as bad as John felt. The shiny bald dome of his head was glinting in the tacky gold light of the Goa’uld wherever the hell they were. Even in the boudoir-esque lighting the snakeheads seemed to favour, the guy looked sickly pale, almost green. Though John supposed that had everything to do with the nightmarish vision of all too recognisable, and worse, _nearly_ recognisable _things _floating in tubes all around them.

John tried not to think about them too much.

It was a charnel house. 

Despite himself John found his gaze inexorably drawn to the all too humanoid _thing _suspended in the tube behind the skinny bald guy, yeah, that’d used to be a person alright. It would have been difficult to say, but the obvious clue was the tattered ‘GAP’ logo still visible on the remnants of the clothing that wreathed the twisted figure.

Athena strode back in from a door on the other end of the space as if she owned the place, John guessed she did. She turned, and spoke to him as if he was a child,

“Now. I want _you_ to use that delightful ATA gene of yours to turn _this_ on.”

Athena waved something that looked Ancienty at him. Crap. How the hell did she know about that? John supposed the news must have gotten out over the years, but it was a nasty shock. Covering his nerves Sheppard drawled,

“Uh. Let me think. No.”

“Oh, you have no choice in the matter.”

Her eyes glowed gold, and she gestured emphatically towards unwell balding guy,

“Joe here failed to do as I asked.”

In the grating dual voice of a Goa’uld the sing-song tone she took on was even more out of place than it already was,

“Now. Mr Spencer actually tried; he really did. I could tell he was really making an effort. Honestly, I keep being given these so-called hok’tar to work with, and I’ve yet to see any evidence of superior genetics. So far all you Tau’ri seem equally deficient.”

She gestured toward the nest of wires that wreathed his head, Joe twitched spasmodically, before resuming his vegetable impression. Oh, this did _not_ look good.

“But alas, his best was not good enough.”

The witch turned towards him, eyes still gold, and asked rhetorically,

“Do you want to see what happens to slaves that don’t do as their goddess bids them?”

“No. I really don’t.”

Ignoring him, Athena fiddled with something on the gaudy gold jewellery that adorned her hand, and the whole wall rose up,

“_Sheppard_!”

John blinked in horror.

“Todd.”

Athena snapped imperiously at the Wraith. Damn. John couldn’t believe the level of ignorant arrogance the woman was displaying there, snakehead or not, you did not do that to a being that was 10,000 years old and could _eat_ you. At least, not if you weren’t actively _trying_ to piss them off. If anything, Todd looked amused.

“Soon you’ll be _begging_ me to be allowed to be a Lo’taur Sheppard.” Imperiously she nodded towards Todd, ”Dinner time.”

With a flicker, the forcefield John hadn’t registered dissipated. Todd stepped forward and gestured awkwardly around the manacles,

“Am I to feed on this one, or that one?”

John was surprised to realise he knew the wraith well enough to tell that he was only pretending not to care either way. Athena casually waved an arm, as if she wasn’t discussing ending a sentient life,

“Oh, eat the barber. He’s useless to me anyway.” She scoffed angrily, “Hok’tar my ass. I’ve yet to see any evidence of the superior Alteran physiology you Tau’ri keep claiming for yourselves.”

With a glance in John’s direction, Todd thrust his feeding hand towards the weaselly- no towards _Joe – _and started to feed. John watched unblinking, only realising as Athena’s goons were connecting electrodes to _his_ head that the guy hadn’t even _twitched_ as Todd sucked him dry.

“Now, you’ve seen what will happen if you don’t comply with my wishes Tau’ri.”

The Ancient device was waved under his nose, John thought ‘_off off off_!’ at it as the prickling sensation he associated with the technology made itself known. Thankfully, it stayed inert, but John could feel it trying to respond to him. Sheppard wasn’t even sure what it was but knew there was no way in hell he’d be turning it on for this psycho anytime soon.

Athena sniffed,

“Pity.”

Again with the finger snapping, and a less musclebound helper stepped forward,

“Attach the …motivator.”

John tried to make the guy’s life difficult by squirming around, but as soon as the first of the new electrode thingies touched his temple there was a blinding moment of pain that let the guy rapidly stick the whole series of them to his head. Each one hurt like a knife in the eye, as it did whatever the hell it was doing. Before long John’s entire existence narrowed down to the agony of the electrical crown of thorns wreathing his head.

***

Ronon (literally) flew around the corner and was plunged into darkness. He’d chosen to bound along up near the ceiling, since, even without gravity, people forgot to look up. With no up and down to contend with, the ceiling made for a better floor than the actual floor.

He got near the place where serious fighting had obviously gone down. Someone had shot out the lights. Smoke wreathed the air, the distinctive smell of frying Earther electronics and burning crystalline tech made his nose twitch. Scorch marks scored the usually pristine drab grey walls of the Earther ship.

The Alliance had captured a crowd of their people. There was a mix of civilians and scientists all corralled into the mess. Ronon thought he spotted Captain Kleinmann in there, but in the darkness, it was difficult to tell.

Ronon backtracked. He needed to make an entrance.

Pushing himself gently backwards in the 0g, using minimal motions of his upper arms to manoeuvre, Ronon quietly got back out into the hall. Dex had gotten used to the new fighting terrain more quickly than the enemy, he planned to take advantage of that. He rechecked his weapons, his gun was set to stun, and fully charged. Ronon also had a borrowed handgun, which, was awkward to use in microgravity, admittedly, but he knew the recoil could prove useful. The strange phallic energy weapon he’d snatched from one of the raiders still seemed to have a charge too, though Ronon had no clue how long that would last. It would have to do.

He made it to the nearest hatchway, and settled in to scheme.

A few minutes later Ronon figured he had the outline of a plan. Anything else he’d just have to improvise, unpleasant as his years as a Runner had been, Ronon had a lot of practice to lean on. Besides, plans were nice and all, but in his experience, stuff rarely worked out the way you imagined it.

He kicked off from the bulkhead behind him, firing as he went. Using the physics of 0g, Ronon flew headfirst into the room. Dex flew past the hatchway to the mess. Ignoring the nauseating spin on the world, he shot the two Lucian Alliance members who’d been guarding the entrance as he hurtled past.

Ronon adjusted his trajectory minutely, and took cover behind, or should that be underneath, an upturned table? The point was moot in this environment with no up or down,

“Stop right there! Surrender. This vessel has been claimed as the rightful property of the Sixth House!”

As his eyes adjusted to the lower light levels, Ronon bided his time, playing indecisive. The Earther crew were bloodied and bruised; one of them had clearly taken a beating. As well as the wreckage of a barricade, formed from the flimsy black tables that were really the only moveable furniture on these 304-class ships to speak of, it was obvious that something bad happened here.

The guy on the float in the centre of the room looked like he was barely holding off whimpers of pain. It was that or he was gonna be sick. The dude was rotating gently, droplets of blood spinning around him in a morbid tableau.

Ronon smiled maliciously at the crowd of pirates crowding the _Hammond’s_ crewmembers into the mess. If the enemy wanted to fight with no concept of honour, neither would he.

“Okay, okay I surrender.”

Ronon lifted his hands as if in capitulation. All the while making sure he had his back to a handy bulkhead he could push off. The nearest invader, a huge bald man, who reminded Ronon uncomfortably of the larger wraith turned pseudo-humans during that clusterfuck with Beckett’s virus, reached towards him with a triumphant expression. Casually, as though nothing could be more agreeable, Ronon ‘scratched’ at his hair. The next second one of Ronon’s favourite throwing knives was sticking out of the guy’s hand.

The guy yowled. The momentum from the knife sent him drifting backwards and away from the floor. Ronon grinned nastily as the big bruiser panicked.

“Dannic!”

Ronon whirled away from the exposed entrance to the room, drawing his gun as he went. He fired at the newly named Dannic, who was still clutching at his hand, then ducked behind a floating table, as a volley of blue energy blasts flew his way. Blue lightning dissipated harmlessly across the metal.

The voice had come from the far corner, Ronon spun and fired. He nudged trapped spinning guy gently towards a bulkhead as he flew past. Another pirate went down. Ronon bounced himself off the ceiling and pushed downwards, still shooting. That was five down.

A new voice called out,

“Friend. This is pointless. I have my orders. You have your orders. We’re both soldiers here.”

Ronon resisted the urge to snort derisively. Sheppard was always trying to teach him diplomacy, not that Sheppard was any good at it either, but his team leader kept trying. The voice continued,

“I’m Varro. First of the Sixth House, what’s your rank?”

Ronon’s response was near automatic, though he couldn’t keep the contempt out of his tone,

“Specialist Ronon Dex.”

He finally caught sight of the source of the voice, a bulky blond man, who’d appeared in the hatchway. It would have been a stupidly exposed position, if not for the weaselly sneering guy who’d quietly flanked the exit whilst Ronon was distracted taking out the enemy in the room,

“Ah. My primary loyalty is to my home world, not the Alliance. I am allied with the Sixth House. But it is only a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

At that announcement, the big bald guy, Dannic, gave a shocked glower. The bastard was _tough_, if nothing else. The knife had vanished, and he was squaring for another go. The skinny guy at the door didn’t look too surprised, though the calculating expression on his face was making Ronon nervous.

“My loyalty is to this branch of the Alliance, and to Commander Kiva of course. But the Alliance, unlike the Tau’ri, is working for the good of _all_ the peoples of the galaxy.”

Ronon scowled disbelievingly at the chatty guy, he wasn’t buying whatever he was selling. It was too like the honeyed tones the Genii used when they were trying to woo him. Ronon flatly stated,

“My loyalty is to Sateda. To the fight against the Wraith. To Sheppard.” Ronon grinned, well-aware of just how intimidating he looked when he bared his teeth, “To the Commander of this ship. She is a good leader.”

They both fired. Varro’s blast brushed Ronon’s arm, numbing it. Ronon grunted and kept firing, driving Dannic out of the room too. He scrambled for the next table and leapt. Using the lack of gravity to his advantage Ronon propelled himself upwards and bounced back down off the ceiling. He caught Varro a glancing blow to the stomach with his borrowed handgun and sailed towards the door using the momentum from the kickback. Ronon scrabbled for a handhold with dull fingers, and missed. He cursed viciously. This no gravity fighting was absolute _stang_.

In the moment of inelegant scrambling, the skinny man hauled Varro back into the corridor, a trail of blood floating along obscenely in the air behind him and hightailed it out of there. Dannic, grinning maliciously fired into the room of hostages. Hitting several crewmen. Ronon quoted a stanza from the great epic The War Queen Vaneshta at the berserker, and charged, this could not stand. Laughing mockingly Dannic followed his cohorts and disappeared behind a hatchway.

Behind him Cadman and Brightman worked desperately on the injured. He desperately wanted to chase after the cruel idiot, but Ronon needed to make sure everyone here was secure first. Ronon made himself watch the bastard run off, before turning to help.

***

Albert watched with no little relief as the first of the sedated and brainwashed personnel came around. Sgt Siler rubbed at his head,

“What happened Colonel?”

“Lucian Alliance attacked us Sgt. Glad to see you’re okay.”

Lam was hurrying around, unstrapping people from restraints, and generally looking harried. Reynolds hated to do this to her, but,

“Doctor Lam, any news on if our Za’tarcs are still… yunno… voodooed?”

She shot him a withering look.

“There’s no way to be certain colonel.”

Reynolds sent a pleading look Teal’c’s way,

“Teal’c? Care to chip in here?”

“Indeed, Colonel Reynolds, Doctor Lam is correct. We have no way to be sure that those who were brainwashed are telling the truth now, that the conditioning is broken.”

Desperately Reynolds asked what he _knew_ was a stupid question,

“Not even that detector thing the Tok’ra were working on?”

Lam interrupted, “That technology _never_ worked.”

Reynold’s felt his frustration boil over,

“Well we need to do _something_!” He gestured emphatically at the overfull infirmary, “More than half our security forces are tied up here. If they’re not suspected of being whammied, they’re guarding people who are! We can’t end the lockdown until we know for sure they’re not a risk.”

Satterfield lifted her oxygen mask and cut in,

“Well, sir, James and I were down there. I think you’d know if the people who got taken in were still…”

“Crazies.” James interjected, looking completely unapologetic about her use of the word, “They were completely batshit sir. Hell, it felt like the worst migraine in the world, only you didn’t realise that’s what it was, until it was over.”

“Indeed?” Teal’c looked unduly fascinated, “The effects of this device sound wholly different to that of making a Za’tarc. Perhaps the myths about Isis and Osiris developing the technology millennia ago were true.”

“What are you on about Teal’c?”

“Forgive me Colonel Reynolds, we previously speculated on the source of this technology. I heard rumour that Nirrti acquired some technology that had the same effects as those we witnessed today.”

“What the crazy scientist didn’t make it herself?”

“Oh no, she never claimed credit for that.”

“Huh.”

“It is likely she feared Osiris’s reprisal if he found out she’d stolen credit.”

“Oh great, one thing we _do_ have in common with the damned snakes.”

Teal’c inclined his head.

Damn, what the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t very well lock everyone up, could he? Then again there was precedent. And they did have several floors of isolation rooms for just such a purpose… Reynolds steeled himself for the backlash and ordered Lam to ready the isolation floors.

The chief doctor glared at him but didn’t press the point. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but it _would_ free up the personnel guarding this lot to help clear up this damned mess. Albert couldn’t wait until Landry got back, let the General deal with this.

***

Ronon helped run triage as Brightman finished patching up the people Dannic hit with his spray and pray technique. A few Lantean veterans had been amongst those caught in the ship’s mess, Cadman and Brightman included. Thankfully Brightman was a medic, and better still, she was calm about the situation, not panicking about the wellbeing of her patients loudly as Carson tended to, or worse wondering aloud about her own competence as was Keller’s habit.

“Thank you Ronon.” The doctor finished bandaging and shot him a look, “I’ve done everything I can here without access to the infirmary.”

The flat tones of the enemy commander came across the intercom, interrupting whatever head of steam the doc might have been building up to,

_“This is pointless Colonel Carter. Why do you persist in hiding from me? We _will_ find you, and in the meantime your crew shall suffer for your petulance. Whatever you’re planning, know that killing me won’t make any difference to your fate, my lieutenants have orders to fire on this vessel at once should that eventuality occur…”_

Ronon grunted derisively at the threat, and turned his attention to the nearest marine, it was Captain Cadman.

“You able to hold the line?”

“Oh sure.” she said blithely, “They only got the drop on us the first time because we were busy playing distraction.”

Ronon wasn’t sure he believed her assessment of the way the situation had gone down. But thought better of saying anything. He grunted, then realised she was waiting for an actual reply,

“I better go find out what’s happened to everyone else.”

Quick as a whip she quipped,

“Try not to stick your dick in this, it’s fucked enough already.”

Ronon grinned fiercely back at the marine.

“I should say the same to you, Captain.” He started down the hallway, and called over his shoulder, “Remember, no high explosives in space. Sheppard taught me that.”

Cadman looked puzzled, “Wha-? Sheppard isn’t an explosive’s expert.”

“No, I just don’t wanna get sucked out into hard vacuum. Again.”

Realisation dawned, a semi-amused scowl came over Cadman’s expression, “Oh ha ha. Very droll. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of judging how much or how little plastic explosive is needed to break open a bulkhead without blowing clean through the hull.”

“Yeah. Right.”

His dramatic exit was spoilt by the way Dannic and co had clearly barred the way behind them,

“Crap.”

Cadman joined him at the corridor junction, shot him a wicked grin, then with a jaunty flourish theatrically produced a block of C4 and waved it at him mockingly.

“Need a hand?”

Ronon sighed and let her at it, with efficient movements Cadman sectioned off a small amount of putty and attached the detonator. She gestured for him to step back. They retreated down the corridor.

“How you wanna do this?” Ronon asked.

Cadman shrugged, “You go high I go low?”

“Fine by me.”

Cadman triggered the detonator. Laura was definitely Ronon’s kind of marine. Badass. Competently lethal, and not afraid to use her body to any advantage. Be that using her smaller stature in a fight or taking Teyla’s lessons in flexibility vs bulk to heart.

They both rushed into the barricaded room as planned. Clumsy in the 0g.

Their small explosion to breach the bulkhead had sent people flying. Literally. Lucian Alliance members were scattered all over the place. Ronon grinned and started stunning. Between the explosion and Ronon’s gun they made short work of the invaders in the room.

Ronon ran an assessing eye over the space,

“This a more defensible position, yeah?”

“Oh I’ll say.” Cadman grinned.

“Good.” Neither Dannic or Varro were amongst those they’d taken out. “I’m going to push on.”

“Alright, good hunting out there.”

***

Hank looked at Patricia Armstrong’s pale face and tried not to let the pity show on _his_ face.

“I’m going to go public with the programme! I swear it!”

The woman’s hands shook as she poured herself a very full glass from the decanter on the sideboard. The amber liquid nearly sloshed over the side as she gulped it down, then slammed the glass back to the wooden surface.

Despite her harsh words all Hank could feel was shame. He’d only just gotten the news himself. Senator Armstrong was dead. On Hank’s watch. His daughter Chloe was blaming the SGC. Loudly. Landry couldn’t find it within himself to blame her.

Up here in DC communication with the SGC was still spotty at best. Landry wanted to be back under the mountain dealing with this mess, or failing that, helping the efforts at Homeworld. Instead here he was, watching the woman in front of him pickle her liver in an effort not to feel anything. A second glass of amber liquid was poured, and rapidly worked through in short order. Awkwardly Hank offered his condolences,

“Mrs Armstrong, I am so sorry for your loss. I hope it will be of some consolation to know that your daughter is safe, and that the-” Hank nearly said situation, then remembered, Patricia had clearance. Of course she did, with the threats she was levelling, “invasion of Earth has been thwarted by the efforts of those working at Cheyenne. Your husband was a good man, he will be missed.”

Patricia Armstrong sent him a hate filled glare, “Tell me my daughter is safe.”

“I assure you she’s perfectl-“

“That’s what you said about my husband!”

***

Sam had a solution to the standoff. She didn’t like it. In some ways it was even more risky than playing with the atmosphere. Hell, who was she kidding, Sam _knew_ it was incredibly dangerous, could result in the _Hammond_ going Dutchman out here in the black with all hands onboard for eternity. But Kiva wasn’t giving her any option. In forty-five minutes she was going to space the first crewmember.

The Lucian Alliance commander still had three Ha’taks under her command, which she was using to great effect to back Sam into a corner. Carter _couldn’t_ activate her nasty little hastily programmed life-support subroutine, without activating the dead man’s switch deal Kiva apparently had going on with her seconds on board the other vessels.

It was time to fight fire with celestial fire.

Carter ran the final few strokes of the anti-viral coding she’d desperately been typing into the ship’s mainframe and hit enter.

With bated breath she awaited the results.

A groan echoed around the superstructure of the ship.

The crystalline array, that had been dark, lit up.

They had shields again.

It was temporary, no long-term solution, routed through circuitry meant to control the hyperdrive, but they’d hold up long enough to let her do this. No one to pilot. Her crew still desperately fighting boarders in every section of her ship, but… The _Hammond_ was no longer a sitting duck.

Dare she risk everyone, to save some?

Carter glanced again at the storage bay, filled with a full third of the _Hammond’s_ crew manifest. There was no other option. She glanced at the estimated arrival time. Forty minutes. Sam _had_ to try - if it worked no one else would die today.

If it didn’t, no one would know. They’d just be dead

Jaw clenched against the urge to back away from this madness, Sam deliberately set the _Hammond_ on a course that took them on a long drift towards the neighbouring system containing the pulsar. Sam fought back the dread that iced down her spine as warning labels flashed up on the scientific station she was using to monitor their course. Hastily she turned off all the automated safety features, and hoped their hacker, and thus their Ha’tak escort, hadn’t noticed what they were headed towards.

***

Rush couldn’t help himself; these people were making him nervous, and when he got nervous, he tended to revert to type,

“What the _fuck_ is this? Tinker, tailor, soldier, _cunt_?”

Nick stumbled along; arm held in a harsh grip by the tattooed wall of muscle who seemed to make it his life’s effort to blindly carry out Athena’s every whim. He was worried about the others, he hadn’t seen Vala or Sheppard in hours – he’d been stuck trying actively _not_ to work on the chevron problems that were fucking _crying out_ for him to crack them. But the cypher had been the only thing available to distract himself with in that damned cell. Rush was just worried he’d lose himself to the problem, and actually make the mistake of _writing it down_. Far as Nick was aware, it was the only possible thing he had that could be of interest to anyone.

He was thrown bodily into a wide open, thoroughly empty, fucking room. The gold theme continued here too, though in the echoing cavern, the state of the place was more obvious than it had been in the cells. The hieroglyphs that lined the walls were grimy and oil crusted. In places verdigris copper dripped down, betraying age and lack of care.

The power-suit wearing executive in front of him smiled smarmily, with her slick blonde hair and her wintry expression, Rush felt as if he was facing down a shark. Only, with less mercy. Nick tried to let none of his unease show in his expression, but he could feel the cold sweat breaking out as his hair began to stick uncomfortably to his neck.

“Hello Doctor Rush.”

Rush kept his mouth shut and sneered.

Her smile merely grew wider.

Fuck. Fucking arsing _hell, _what the fuck had he fallen into?

She continued talking,

“Previously chair of cryptography at Berkeley, Field’s Medallist, you cracked the P=NP problem, and the worlds’ governments have been _very_ upset with you ever since.”

Rush blinked, she clearly knew who he was, oh shit, the silence, was he expected to say something now?

“I want you to use that brain of yours for me.”

The denial was instinctive,

“No. Absolutely fucking not.”

That disquieting smile was back again, her eyes flashed gold, her voice buzzed loudly,

“You act as if you have a choice.”

The stick she’d been holding, and Rush had been trying his best to ignore, descended.

Red lightning crackled out of its tip.

The shock forced Rush to the floor, where he arched spasmodically, twitching helplessly in agony until Athena withdrew the stick.

“No.”

“Really? Pity.”

The stick returned.

The process was repeated several times, leaving Rush panting in jagged breaths in a puddle on the floor. He couldn’t quite get his limbs to cooperate. As he tried to get at least partially upright, so he could at least glare at the witch, Rush realised with no little alarm that he was _shaking_. He couldn’t control the twitching in his limbs at all.

“I still won’t do it.”

Athena raised an eyebrow,

“Impressive for a civilian. I’d continue, but I confess, I’m a little worried your heart might give out.” She smiled maliciously, “And now for further motivation…”

She pressed something on what Rush had taken to be a piece of gaudy fucking jewellery of the worst variety of tacky chintz. A screen materialised out of nowhere on the grimy gold wall behind her, Vala appeared. Rush’s emotions reeled, one moment he’d been trying to piece back together the tattered shreds of his dignity, to at least _try_ to put up some sort of facade, the next, rage then fear tore through him like a storm. The conflicting emotions chasing each other restarted the shakes he’d only just managed to quell. She hadn’t _needed_ to resort to pain at all, it had all been a game to her.

Vala seemed oblivious to the camera, or whatever was being used to record her.

The thief looked mostly alright; she was pacing in another gold-walled room. Rush could see Vala was troubled, but she was alive and whole. Relief shot through him. He tried not to show it, glancing at the icy woman out of the corner of his eye, from the way her head tilted Rush got the unsettling feeling he hadn’t been successful. Rush had become adept at hiding his fears from a _very_ young age, yet this alien appeared to see right through him.

“Yes, she hasn’t been harmed.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow raised, Rush was reminded unnervingly of Sheppard’s tendency to speak with his eyes rather than words.

“You can ensure that this remains the case.”

“What?”

Rush’s heart sank, he already knew. 

“Work for me, and your friend will _remain_ unharmed.”

She didn’t need to state the threat, the implication was enough. The woman stalked towards the door and gestured imperiously.

“Yes, break this Tau’ri encryption for me, and your friend shall not be harmed.”

Wait.

What about-

“And Sheppard?”

She paused and grinned maliciously,

“Oh, I make no such guarantees about him.” 

Rush snapped, the anger and grief that always roiled under the surface these days boiling to the fore with a suddenness that had him reeling,

“Who the _fuck_ _are you_ tae demand this!?”

Another malevolent look of glee,

“I already told you, _Athena_.”

Another set of those damned Jaffa marched in, awkwardly manhandling a pair of desktop towers into the room. They were placed in the centre of the space, extension cables meandering messily across the floor, until they reached a previously hidden panel, where they were hastily wired into the grimy wall. She nodded at their handiwork.

Hesitantly Rush sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the computer. Watching with a sense of surreal detachment as they fussed with the thing, plugging it into the other desktop tower, and generally acting like an IT department setting up an office.

He came back to himself when the nearest thug shoved at his back roughly, pushing his head towards the computer sat in the middle of the floor,

“Work.”

Rush hunched his shoulders and pretended to be cowed, he knew from bitter fucking experience that it was often the only thing men like that idiot would take. Hastily Rush scribbled a load of mathematical nonsense on the notepad they’d provided him, it was pure _fucking_ gibberish; but he was trying to look like he was panicking. Nick reached out and sulkily pushed the power button.

Oh, he was panicking, but not for the reason that had the Phil Mitchell wannabe behind him looking so smug, where the _hell_ were the others? Who’d taken them? Athena? Who was she and how did she have so many people willing to work for her? Why the fuck had they been attacked? Was Colonel fucking Southern Charm getting help? Or was he being kept somewhere else in this complex? What about Vala? Would working really keep her safe? He doubted it. And what about _Sheppard_?

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck!

The computer took an absolute age about it but booted up. Rush’s heart sank when he realised what Athena meant by Tau’ri encryption. In front of him the computer was accusatorily showing a corporate address, identified as Colson Industries in the monochrome white on black pixelated text on screen. She’d kidnapped him for a light bit of industrial espionage. He desultorily scribbled down a stream cypher, the kind of thing he’d show one of his 101 classes in a bid to at least _look_ productive, as he chewed over how to play this.

Nick was still suffering from the shakes in the aftermath of that damned stick. Rush exaggerated the aftereffects of his treatment in a bid to buy more time to think. Internally Nick was reeling. How the fuck was he going to get through this? Mild mannered mathematician, widower, formerly married to a concert violinist of some repute, break himself out of whatever the fuck this was? Rush snorted. Yeah right.

Well, dammit. She’d clearly known who he was. It wouldnae do him any good to stall too obviously, but, maybe Nick could do as she asked, just very _very_ badly? Would that work?

Athena took his hesitance for something it wasn’t, impatiently the ridiculously statuesque blonde spat,

“Well, then, make yourself useful. Pathetic Tau’ri, you’re all so proud of your filthy contaminated world and its pathetic databases. Go on, break into them!”

Automatically he spat back, “Och aye, _proud_. Did ye know Trident is just next door to Glasgow? Don’t talk to me about proud ye wee doss cunt.” Rush’s mouth was running on automatic, all his higher functions taken up with trying to work his way out of this mess.

He felt sick when he registered just what had come out of his mouth. Thankfully, by some utter fucking _miracle_, Athena didn’t seem to register the insult. She left the room he’d been dragged to with nary a word, leaving him with the crippled computer in the great echoing gold space.

Rush was stuck with Tweedledee and Tweedledum for company. Incredulously Nick couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that the worm had been stupid enough to task the apparently _infamous_ P=NP Field’s Medallist, _of all people_, with this job. Hacking into corporate networks? Please. He could do it in his _sleep_.

The real trick would be making it look like he was being careful, whilst deliberately leaving a breadcrumb trail for the SGC to trace. Rush couldn’t leave anything that would make it obvious to this shower of shit what he was doing. He just had to trust that the people working at Stargate Command were as intelligent as they thought they were, which, given past experience, was fair fucking unlikely. But what else could he do?

Rush after all was the man who had solved the P=NP problem, and Athena _knew_ that.

Suddenly claiming an inability to hack into his own world’s computer systems, when he’d very publicly proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was more than capable of hacking into something utterly alien was a leap too far. Even for this fucking _idiot_.

Rush cracked his knuckles and got started. Glaring at the Jaffa staring at him from the other computer the whole time.

Give enough. Careful – balance it just right. Just like when he’d dossed around on the streets, look over here at the shiny shiny distraction. Not at what my other hand is doing as I nick your fucking wallet. Only, this time he wasn’t playing to earn enough to get a bite tae eat, but for his very life. For the lives of a load of veritable strangers who’d somehow all come to rely on him, a fellow thief, and a maladjusted member of the USAF, who Rush was trying very hard not to think about too much.

Nick hadn’t seen what Athena was doing to the man. But his imagination was more than up to the challenge. He pushed down the imagery and got back to work.

The worm had blocked access to _every_ address, bar the one she was currently asking him to hack into, at the router level. Even more insultingly, the only thing loaded onto this skeleton of a machine was a fucking DOS that was so severely broken, _all _Rush could use it for was attacking aforementioned address. Nick was grudgingly impressed; this machine was so crippled, it was relying on the _other_ machine in the room to actually function. He’d only seen a computer this fucked once before, when an undergrad had accidentally deleted most of the key functions of the Linux OS he’d been playing with, drivers and all. It had been an exercise in _not laughing his arse off, _as he’d eventually established that in order to even boot up, the machine would need to be temporarily slaved to another computer in order to do a full wipe and clean install. Rush had never seen it done _deliberately_ before. The Jaffa next to him effectively had a kill switch and could keep a beady eye on everything he was doing.

Dammit, much as he didn’t want to, Nick needed to play along for now. He only hoped the period of _mostly_ doing as he was asked, albeit very fucking incompetently, wouldn’t be too long for Sheppard. Nick appended the first of the comments to his shoddy hacking job on Colson Industries near automatically, scrawling a complex set of mathematical proofs about the orbital mechanics of a binary star system in the virtual margins, even as he wormed past several layers of encryption that even a year ago would have been impossible to break. Then again Rush mused bitterly, a year ago Nick and Gloria had thought they’d found their happily ever after.

***

Ronon caught up with the mass of fighting near the engine rooms. He was ferally pleased to note that of the group he’d encountered earlier, it was just Dannic. The other two were nowhere to be seen.

He fired down the length of the corridor, neatly taking out three of the boarders, and attracting the attention of the other man.

“Hey Dannic, Varro okay?” Ronon called tauntingly.

As he’d hoped, Dannic charged wildly.

Ronon met him blow for blow, using the berserker’s anger against him. He backed up, it went against everything he wanted to do, but Ronon knew. He had to make it look like he wasn’t protecting engineering.

Carter was doing something down there.

Ronon had to buy her as much time as possible.

If that meant making a nuisance of himself, rather than cleanly and efficiently taking down as many of these cowards as possible, then so be it. Ronon shot Dannic a mocking grin,

“That all you’ve got?”

***

Cam tried to lay low and not draw any attention to their quiet little corner. Sheppard meanwhile had sunk ever lower in his chair, as the lanky man gradually gave in to the urge to sulk. With Dave’s new position, down nearly at eye-level with the table, Cam was finally seeing a little bit of familial resemblance. If not in looks, then in boneless slouching. It’d only taken more than twelve hours sitting around twiddling their thumbs for it to happen.

Mitchell and Shep abused the free coffee refills, only earning a slight glare from the ennui filled waitress who’d first served them, as she went off shift and noticed they were still there as she left. In a bid not to get kicked out, Cam bought another plate of eggs, which he picked desultorily at, whilst trying not to earn Dave’s ire. It was better than the powdered stuff they served in the cafeteria, but only just.

An insomniac drunk in the corner was not-so-sneakily necking the contents of a glass bottle wrapped up in a brown paper bag, the complete lack of any attempt at subtlety threw Cam for a six – until he realised it was getting on for 0400. It was currently so far beyond zero dark thirty that Cam could see hints of sunlight peeking around the horizon, lightening the pitch black of the desert landscape from a vast impenetrably dark emptiness, topped by the awe inspiring star scape of the Milky Way, to something that was almost recognisable as human space again.

A bunch of kids all piled in the doors, upsetting the little bubble of tense quiet that had been Cam’s world for the past God knew how long. They were young and loud; a blast of shocking noise in a world gone eery and strange with its surreal contrast between the oasis of harsh flickering fluorescent lighting inside, and the vast black echoing emptiness of the desert on the other side of the glass.

They cheerfully clattered around, ordering food, laughing at bad jokes, and generally making a bit of a ruckus. Cam settled back with his coffee, noting that Sheppard hadn’t so much as turned his head in their direction. Concerned, he shot the businessman a questioning look, but it only got Dave straightening momentarily into his previous painfully stiff posture, even by military standards. When Dave realised the promised ride hadn’t showed, Sheppard shot Mitchell a truly filthy glare, before subsiding back into the dazed slump he’d fallen into despite himself.

Mitchell bit his tongue, he’d already been on the receiving end of several tongue lashings that’d make his Pa blush something fierce, he didn’t want to earn another. Still, Cam watched the goings on with growing concern as the troupe of kids gradually got more and more raucous.

First, a lanky snot-nosed kid sidled up to the drunk, and somehow managed to persuade the guy to part with a splash of whatever was in that damned bottle he’d been swigging from. As soon as Cam saw the cap, he knew it wouldn’t end well; it was Everclear. Sure enough, moments later, the kid raised the glass to his lips, and spat the volatile liquid violently all over the table. The night owl was howling fit to burst a gut, the graveyard shift waiter fussed at the laminate table, and the kid was hacking and spluttering as if he was dying.

The drunk allowed himself to be chivvied to the counter for another coffee and a slice of toast, still cackling loudly, and for a while Cam figured that was the worst of the late night, or rather, early morning, drama over and done with.

It wasn’t to be.

A while later another kid decided it’d be a grand ole time if he were to serenade the joint with his rendition of Shakespeare, by getting up on one of the tables. By this point, the kids weren’t the only people in the place. The threat of dawn had brought with it the extreme beginnings of the early crowd, truckers and the earliest bleary-eyed commuters were mingling with the drunks and night owls. If Cam were a betting man, he’d guess the guy in a suit at the counter was a door to door salesman, with that heavy briefcase and ill-tailored suit.

Loudly, as Denny’s began to veritably bustle, where all these people were coming from, Cam couldn’t rightly fathom, given that they were in the middle of the desert, the boy got started,

“_I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth…”_

If it wouldn’t have attracted yet another filthy glare, Cam would have groaned out loud. Between Mr Everclear noisily slurping up his coffee and munching obnoxiously on his toast, and the rest of the kids it was getting a bit close in here,

_“…forgone all custom of exercises, and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory;” _

Sheppard seemed to wake from the doze he’d fallen into. The businessman startled in obvious recognition of the speech, he looked around urgently, realised it was a load of kids, glared at Cam as if this was somehow _his_ fault, and resumed his slump,

_“…this most excellent canopy, the air—look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire—why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.” _

Cam resisted the urge to start an argument, Sheppard kept acting as if everything wrong in the world could be landed on his doorstep. Though, he had to admit, the kid really _was_ hamming it up something awful.

The kid reached the climax of the little monologue, working himself up into a near frenzy. Cam found himself unwillingly dragged along for the ride, caught up in the overwrought emotion the kid was practically emanating. Mitchell could damn near feel the despair that wreathed the words, which, given the fluorescent hum and Formica surroundings he found himself in, was just damned _strange_,

_“What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a **god**!” The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me. No, nor woman neither…” _

The kid took a bow and jumped down from the table, smilingly directing the last line at a giggling teen who was probably his sweetheart, in what must have been his usual accent he turned to the giggling girl and said,

_“ though by your smiling you seem to say so.”_

And the moment passed. The waitress popped her gum, unimpressed. Cam had to admit that he weren’t all that charmed either, the kid seemed to have completely missed the point of that grim little rant from the way he’d so casually dropped the mood. He side-eyed Sheppard, who was mulishly poking at his coffee, though at least the guy wasn’t glaring at the other customers.

Cam figured the craziness must finally be winding down, but he was sadly mistaken. Another kid, one Cam wasn’t entirely convinced was actually with the others, started trying to play tough by picking a fight with a light fitting. _A light fitting._

_“_Are you talkin to me?”

Christ – he was really going for it,

“I said, are you talking to me?!”

The boy took a swing for the lamp. There was a horrible crunching tinkling sound as both the protective lampshade, and the fluorescent bulb inside shattered. The boy howled, clutching at his hand, which was weeping blood.

The waitress sounding utterly bored said,

“I’ll call the emergency room.” She pointed at a random teen, “You – don’t let him clench his fist. I saw this before, someone else grabbed the guy’s hand and _squeezed.” _

There was a collective wince.

Hours later, Cam still couldn’t decide if the kid had intended to make contact or not.

The late night/early morning craziness passed, and with it, Cam felt himself slipping into a semi-awake not-quite doze himself. He was so tired he’d slipped around the other side, and found new peaks of sleeplessness, which, thinking about it was _probably_ a good thing? Cam still wasn’t entirely certain he _didn’t_ have a concussion. And he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for the both of them, after all Sheppard here was a civilian, and the Air Force had all but stated that Cam was so far down on their priority list that’d likely be all damned day before they bothered to send anyone to fetch them.

***

“You, medic, treat my second in command. If Varro lives, you live. He dies, you die.”

TJ glared silently at the cruel woman in front of her, and wordlessly moved to patch up the man who’d obviously been shot. In the back of her mind, TJ chewed over the fact that the Alliance knew all the terms they used. Just how long had they been spying on them?

It was a good thing that Dr Brightman and Captain Cadman had both gotten out from behind the blockade. Everyone stuck in this section of the ship was relying on the goodwill of a woman who didn’t appear to have any.

Tamara took a moment to wince at the blood still bubbling up from the wound. Severe lacerating gunshot wound, in 0g. She didn’t need to be a doctor to know this was bad, already she could see the blood was pooling where ordinarily it would drain away from the injury. Here, with no gravity to speak of, a massive bleed was trapped floating around the wound site within the body. 0g lead to all kinds of horrible medical complications.

Taking care not to make the damage worse TJ washed out the wound with saline solution, swiping irritably at the bloody water that hung in the air in front of her. In the end Private Dunning wordlessly pushed himself towards her makeshift operating room, and clutching the gurney started swiping at the globes of moisture with a towel. It didn’t entirely work, but he captured the worst of it. TJ tried not to notice the way the combined surface tension and lack of gravity made the red liquid wobble sickeningly around the surface of the towel, not so much absorbing into the cloth, as cling obscenely to it in a surreal bloodied mass.

With extra-long forceps, and resorting to zealous use of the suction pipe, to suck away blood and water that simply would not drain from the wound in this damnably awkward lack of gravity that meant Tamara was hovering over her patient at a really strange angle, she removed the bullet lodged in his gut. Thankfully, no major vessels had been damaged, and the intestines hadn’t been perforated, but TJ really didn’t like the way the wound was acting in these unusual circumstances.

She packed the hole with sterile gauze, figuring it would hold until either the gravity got turned back on, or Dr Brightman came back.

Pulling off her gloves, and immediately regretting her unthinking action as even the slight jolt of momentum from throwing the gloves into the medical waste bin sent her drifting backwards, Tamara announced,

“I’ve done all I can for him.”

“You haven’t done enough, there’s still blood-“

Even injured as he was, Doctor Simms chimed in, he called from his position slumped in the corner,

“You do realise wounds won’t drain in 0g?” The senior doctor glared up at Kiva, “Medic Johansen said there was nothing more to be done, as the senior doctor here, I concur.”

Kiva very deliberately knelt down and backhanded the Asian doctor with her gun, he fell to the floor, pushed there by the momentum. Kiva herself stumbled, nearly floating upwards into the horrible no man’s land that had been used to so effectively restrain so many crewmembers. Kiva regained her footing by hastily kicking upwards, the momentum pushing her back down. The woman looked even more furious at the brief loss of dignity. For a long-horrified moment Tamara thought that Kiva would _shoot_ Doctor Simms. The Commander reached for her gun, then the screams started.

In the corner of the bay, next to the emergency medical cubby for the 302 pilots, a beam of harsh light shot into the room through the trinium viewport. The member of the Alliance who’d been standing there howled as if in agony. TJ stared uncomprehendingly, until, with a start she realised she could see his bones. Sickeningly, it resembled the first-person accounts of radiation exposure on fast forward, the man’s skin literally sloughed off, then his flesh, then the skeleton was reduced to dust.

Kiva rounded on the ranking officer in the room, Captain Kleinmann,

“What did you do to my men!?”

TJ watched with growing respect as the helmsman replied calmly,

“I’ve got no idea what just happened Ma’am.”

Kiva looked as if she was about to commit murder. Simms may have (barely) escaped her wrath, but it seemed Kleinmann wasn’t going to be so lucky.

Frantic pounding echoed through the storage bay, making several people jump. One more person joined the ranks of those floating helplessly in the no man’s land created by the combined lack of gravity or handholds with which to rectify the situation in the centre of the echoing space.

Irritably Kiva swiped at the door controls,

“Dannic? What is it?”

“There’s a crewmember giving me trouble. Been chasing him all ove-“

“So? Hunt him down! Or do I have to remind you what the price is for failure?”

Dannic hurriedly backed out, leaving the people the Lucian Alliance had rounded up and trapped in here to the stench of burning flesh left in the aftermath of whatever the hell that beam of light had been.

Kiva activated the comms,

“Colonel Carter, you have ten minutes until I space someone.”

***

Sam needed a solution to this damned hostage situation and fast. On sublights it would take hours to get close enough to the Pulsar for her plan to work. Thankfully, with some quick talking on their parts, the medics and marines held off further bloodshed. But Kiva was getting impatient in her section of the ship, and she had sixty members of Sam’s crew for leverage. Soon she’d make good on that threat about the airlock. Thankfully no one had yet made the connection between the nearby star and the death ray that fried that LA boarder, but, it was with a heavy heart that Sam watched a young crewmember get singled out, then pushed into the airlock.

The new medic was screaming, the Airman in question had just helped her save Kiva’s First, but to no avail. Sam nearly flinched away from the scene playing out on the security monitor but forced herself to bear witness.

It was Colonel Emerson all over again.

The airlock cycled, the doors opened. Sam found herself shamefully grateful that the camera in there wasn’t a high enough resolution for her to make out the blood vessels that were inevitably rupturing in the low pressure and high radiation environment of hard vacuum.

The Airman’s body hung there obscenely in the 0g.

Sam forced herself to swap back to the more general view of the storage bay. Inside Kiva was looking smug at the looks of disgust and fear she’d earned herself.

“Colonel Carter, you have one hour before I space the next crewmember.” Kiva nodded meaningfully at the new medic, “Perhaps next time it will be a woman?”

Sam resisted the urge to reply, she knew the situation would have been worse if she hadn’t activated the Persephone scenario. Sam wanted to scream; she’d broken her own damned ship and people had _still died_. But her crew behaved admirably, those who could get to their mag gear in time had taken advantage of the 0g conditions to roust the forward line of the invaders.

Hell, even the crewmembers who hadn’t been able to get to their equipment had been prepared. With the little forewarning Sam had been able to give them, most of her people swapped to 0g close quarters combat seamlessly.

Unfortunately it turned out quite a few of the Lucian Alliance must have experience in fighting in 0g themselves, from the way a small, but significant minority of the invading force hadn’t panicked, but blithely continued fighting, and far more elegantly than Sam’s own people. Carter wished she could vent the oxygen, and deal with this immediately. But… Those damned Ha’taks were still out there. The Lucian Alliance leader had proven she was deadly, Sam wouldn’t put it past her to genuinely have the other ships waiting to blow them to kingdom come.

Grimly, Carter activated the latest novel subroutine she’d hastily written, getting the sublight engines erratically sputtering, and the manoeuvring thrusters ‘randomly’ firing. With no little satisfaction Sam realised the LA hacker had spotted what she was trying to do, and was fighting her coding to keep them in the outskirts of the pulsar system, but Carter knew the hybrid Asgard-Tau’ri systems better than the back of her hand. There was no way she was letting the person on the other side wrest control away again.

Sam got the shields dialled up to maximum strength, drawing power away from other systems, including weaponry, and the stuff usually reserved for the hyperdrives. Given that she’d been forced to cannibalise crystals from the hyperdrive array to fix the mess made of the shields, Sam figured she’d deal with all of that later. Much later. If there _was_ a later.

When she judged they’d gotten close enough to the neighbouring solar system, Carter remotely activated the sublights again, and smiled an unpleasant little smile, as the Ha’taks moved to follow. She couldn’t hear the chatter from here, but Sam could imagine the confusion. Now she only had to keep this up. Hastily she wiped the nervous sweat from her brow and settled in to make sure the code ran clean. Somehow Carter doubted any of the Alliance invaders would spot her plan in time. Well, with the exception of the mysterious hacker that was. Sam had a suspicion that the brain behind all her troubles was sharp enough to see her plan for what it was. An alert blarted rudely at her, Sam hastily wrested back control of the parts of the life-support systems she’d already slaved to her console and continued hastily tearing through the operating system of her own ship. If Sam could only keep this going for long enough, maybe she’d get everyone out of this.

Just as that thought came, a loud crash sounded outside the hatchway.

Crap. Time to move on.

Hastily Sam started shutting down her console, burying her traces in the system, and prepared to leave via the service hatch to the sublights.

***

Cam was relieved when the Air Force car finally showed up. He and Sheppard had been nursing their coffees for hours. Even though they’d both ordered large plates of food when they’d first arrived, with cursory orders of snacks ever since, the staff had been shooting them dark looks for a while.

Mitchell wasn’t entirely comfortable with all the lollygagging they’d been forced into, but Sheppard looked downright twitchy. Cam would have thought someone so used to traveling cross country as Dave apparently was, would be used to waiting for hours for contacts to show up. Though he supposed, Sheppard was probably used to classier places than this.

“_Finally_! You know Colonel,” Sheppard spat the rank like an insult, “I’d expected better from the Air Force. Then again, given that you seem to think my brother is capable of behaving like an adult, perhaps I should have realised.”

Cam was stunned into silence for a beat as he processed the sheer depth of the implied insult there.

“Now wait just a goddamn minute!”

Dave glared pointedly at the finger Cam belatedly realised he’d raised, he lowered it sheepishly, but continued doggedly, pursuing his point, even as he suspiciously checked the credentials of the 2nd Lieutenant who’d arrived in the transport car,

“Sir.”

“About time LT.”

Cam could practically feel the wave of vindication emanating from Sheppard at Cam’s repetition of his sentiments. The lieutenant calmly showed his credentials without being asked, completely unruffled by the sniping contest going on between a full bird and a business mogul,

“Yessir, sorry sir, we had an incident at Nellis sir.”

Cam wanted to shut his eyes and cry, instead of asking inappropriate questions in front of the civilian, he turned to Dave and said,

“See! Something came up. Just like I told you before. And before. _And_ _before_.”

David opened his mouth as if to say something cutting, Cam cut him off,

“Nope! Not a word! I have been sat cooling my heels same as you for a whole goddamn day now. We’re about to find out what happened, and we’ll get in touch with someone who knows how we’re gonna help find Vala, and Doc Rush, and your brother.”

The LT watched Cam’s rare show of temper with a surprised expression but didn’t say anything. Cam sank into the blessed quiet of the car’s air con and shut his eyes.

***

Sam kept firing, backing up the corridor. It was taking half her concentration not to get knocked off her feet by the recoil. In microgravity the retort of her gun provided enough force to make even this basic of soldiering dangerous.

A hatch loomed to her left, Sam took it.

The door hissed open, Sam pushed herself off the bulkhead, and flew through. She hastily bounced back off the opposite cabin wall, and yanked on the door controls, fusing the system, and sealing herself inside.

It was the old Asgard control centre for the transporters. A design holdover from when they’d had members of that ancient race willing to help the Tau’ri crew their vessels and learn their technology. Since the _Hammond_ had the transport control console on the bridge, and the new Asgard core room built in as standard, this room hadn’t seen much, if any, use yet.

A noise sounded from within the room. Sam spun around too quickly and was forced to steady herself on the ceiling, as the extra momentum sent her drifting.

“Who’s there?”

“Hic!”

Carter frowned.

Doctor Novak emerged from the innards of the defunct console, gun raised, trailing crystalline cabling.

“Colonel!”

The Captain-Doctor hastily lowered her sidearm, and said,

“Am I glad to see you! I’ve been fighting back against our saboteur but, well,” Novak gave a helpless shrug, “I’m no Sam Carter.”

Carter tried to bear up to the renewed weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. In the mad dash to safety, she’d nearly forgotten,

“Right, show me what you’ve got Captain.”

***

Rodney nearly bit Bill Lee’s head off the next time the genial but foolish scientist offered his help. If Rodney wanted assistance, he’d ask. He hadn’t asked, he just wanted to be left alone to sort through the mess that was the SGC security footage. McKay was peeling through hours and hours worth of data, hoping he’d find some clue, some speck of information that would give them a lead as to just why and how this had all happened.

As soon as they’d gotten out of the police’s clutches Rodney rushed to Atlantis, or rather, he’d wanted to. Miko had been the one to point out they were as cut off from the world as they were safe from it, there, in the city floating outside San Francisco bay. In the end he’d agreed to go straight to the SGC to report in but insisted the others make their way to safety. Simpson had glared at him, but Radek and Biro acceded with grace, not so subtly bringing up the fact of Atlantis’s superior technology to anything of Earth’s, perhaps including the stuff under the mountain.

McKay angrily flew through the debrief, he’d been short with the SFs who’d checked him in, barely held his temper during the interview, and rushed straight to the problem itself. Thankfully one of the Lantean old hands was running the SGC security room. He’d taken one look at Rodney’s face, and given up his seat without complaint.

The invasion attempt had been horrible to watch, SG-2 had gone down so quickly. Snuffed out in their own backyard without so much as a warning from the people that stormed the gate room. It was so like watching Diablo and Corrigan go down during the Genii invasion during the storm in the First Year, that Rodney found himself swallowing back bitter bile, and rubbing at his arm, as he forced himself to comb the footage for any sort of clue.

All he’d gotten out of it, beyond the lingering coppery taste of fear, was the opinion that Captain Satterfield and Lt James should be snatched up for Atlantis post-haste. Alongside the airman who’d been on KP duty and the guy with Sergeant’s stripes who’d helped Botany stage a successful barricade in the infirmary, then retake the mountain. He made a mental note to tell Sheppard to headhunt those four, before reality sunk in, and the rage and helplessness rushed back.

Inevitably footage of the invasion was scrambled, the tech the Lucian Alliance used to break into the gate systems and hold the iris open screwed with everything. Whole chunks of time, and people were missing.

The dead did not account for all their losses.

People had been snatched straight out of the SGC.

It was the only explanation, much as it was no explanation at all.

Between the anti-beaming shielding, the fact that the wormhole had been _incoming_ the whole time, and the doors were guarded? It was a locked room mystery.

Rodney felt the headache bloom behind his eyes even as he mulled over the problem.

People had been taken, and not just from the SGC.

Just about everyone from the Atlantis Expedition who hadn’t been safely on Atlantis had been targeted.

It was a small wonder there hadn’t been a frontal assault on the city itself. But Rodney supposed, with an ironic twist to his mouth, that the Alteran tech had been good for preventing that at least. Maybe for all their spies, the Alliance simply hadn’t been able to locate the city, drifting lazily as it was just beyond the bay.

Sheppard was missing.

Rodney pored over the CCTV footage of Sheppard’s time in the mountain, hoping to find some sort of clue, anything, that would help him track his erstwhile friend down.

There was the fake foothold, with Sheppard playing GI Joe, and risking his neck. There was Colonel Dixon glaring up a storm… There was Sheppard hanging out with that Field’s Medallist guy, Wish? No, Rice, and Vala, and… Wait a minute, what was that?

Footage had been cut.

Rodney’s fingers flew over the keys in a bid to recover what had been deleted.

Oh, it was a neat job.

There was no obvious loop, or footage glitch.

The timestamps matched and everything.

But Rodney wasn’t called a genius for nothing. His instincts were screaming at him that something was off here.

Hadn’t Rush and Vala gotten Sheppard kicked off base just in time to get nabbed too?

Rodney started digging through the footage. He’d find it, whatever it was.

***

Staring worriedly at General Landry on the monitor, Mitchell wondered how the hell he’d gotten himself into this. The General was staring back at him expectantly, with that look on his face that Cam had learnt to be wary of.

“Sir?”

“Colonel Mitchell, I would like you to keep our… _guest_ company whilst he’s with us for his own protection.”

Landry glanced significantly at Cam there instead of just outright stating what else he meant. Cam did his best to look like he was a competent adult who understood precisely what his boss wanted of him. He wasn’t entirely sure he was successful. Cam figured Landry meant him to keep Sheppard away from anything he shouldn’t be getting into, which… Was basically _everything_ given the classified, special access project lid on everything concerning Area 51 and the SGC. Crap.

They’d made it to Nellis, and Area 51, only to find the place a warzone.

There’d been an attack.

The main uncatalogued alien materials warehouse had been blown up, re-burying the remains of the building that contained the Antarctic Outpost Control Chair.

Thankfully, the ridiculous delay in getting picked up meant that things around the place were well in hand, but… Mitchell stared at Landry, and the unfamiliar office behind him on the screen. The grandfatherly general looked gravely serious. Mitchell sighed,

“Yessir.”

“That’s my man!”

Mitchell resigned himself to spending the next few days bored out of his skull, and worried as all hell. Still, it beat laying around in the infirmary. Which was the alternative. His crutches had been gained despite the doc’s fierce glare, not with her permission.

“Sir, any news on what the hell happened?”

Landry’s response was dryly sarcastic,

“You mean, besides an attack against the SGC on all fronts?”

“Sir, last I knew we were up on a jolly. The next thing I know we’re on the run from what sound suspiciously like Jaffa, and apparently Sheppard’s crashed the plane. Now I don’t know about you, but something about that don’t add up to me.”

Landry merely looked at Cam across the secure line,

“Colonel, you’ll know when I know. For now, I’m just trying to clean up the mess in DC. Do you have any idea how loudly these jackass politicians complain when they’re panicking?”

Cam was taken aback by Landry’s frank dismissal of their bosses,

“Uh, nossir.”

“_Loudly_ Colonel.” A gusty sigh, “Did you know that Senator Armstrong’s wife is threatening to go public with the Programme?”

“_What_? Why?!”

“The _late_ Senator of California was killed by a Za’tarc in the attack on the SGC son. His daughter witnessed the whole thing, she’s blaming us. Specifically, she’s blaming the young Lieutenant who was escorting them to safety at the time.”

“Now that just ain’t right.”

“No, no it isn’t, but grief does terrible things to a person.”

“_Crap_.” Cam quickly rushed out, “Sorry sir, my condolences to the family.”

Landry waved him away impatiently.

“Now, you’re well out of all that. And in a position to _help_ me by stopping Mr Sheppard there getting similar ideas. Do you understand me Colonel?”

“Yessir!”

“Good, now scram. You look done in Cam.” Landry sighed, “We all do.”

Landry reached up and killed the connection. Shakily, Cam left the secure conference room, and made his way to the vending machine outside, and the sulking form of Dave Sheppard perched incongruously like some great Wall Street vulture on the military issue plastic chairs bolted to the floor in the corridor.

Cam spotted a Mars bar in the glass fronted machine and crowed childishly,

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

“Colonel Mitchell is now really the time?”

“Oh _come on_ Sheppard, we’ve been hanging out exclusively in each other’s company for _days_ now. Loosen up!”

He rifled through his pockets for some change and started feeding it into the machine. It was only when the Mars Bar thumped to the collection tray and Cam turned to see the other man looking incredulous and angry that the tone of voice really sank in,

“Stop calling me that! For god’s sake! I’m not one of John’s military friends. My _name_ is David.”

“Oh, sorry. Dave.”

Cam knew he shouldn’t be needling the other guy, but he was just so _relieved_. For a while there he’d genuinely been worried that the SGC had fallen, between his injuries and the need to lie-low Cam hadn’t a clue where to begin trying to help out, or even if he should try and make his way to the nearest base and hand himself over to the SFs.

It had been a long, interminable day, camped out in the liminal space that was Denny’s, waiting for something, _anything_, to happen. He’d halfway wanted those Jaffa to catch up with them by the end.

Still, his momma had raised him better than this. Though Cam was hurting, Vala had vanished, and Carter was MIA, he knew Sheppard here was hurting too. The man’s brother was missing. And he’d clearly never seen a firefight before, crap, the guy was a civilian, and Cameron had been going around expecting him to act like a soldier.

Cam felt like an ass. Even more so when the other man slumped in on himself and started apologising to him,

“Look I’m sorry Colonel, no one will tell me anything. No one’s even bothered to take a witness statement. Don’t they want to know about that experimental aircraft I saw? I’m sure it’s got something to do with what happened, in fact I’m convinced of it.”

Cam shook himself out of his stunned silence,

“_What_ experimental aircraft?”

Cam had assumed it was surface to aircraft fire, or a plane. What was it they said about _ass_uming?

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. Infuriatingly the guy still looked so perfectly at ease, even here in an environment he couldn’t possibly be familiar with,

“You didn’t see it?”

“No. I didn’t see it! If I’d seen it, I’d have brought it up in my AAR!”

“Oh.”

For the first time Dave Sheppard looked unsure, Cam realised that the front of asshole businessman was just that, a front. The guy was genuinely worried about his brother, Cam felt himself unwillingly softening towards the ass,

“Well it didn’t look like any plane I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, you sure it wasn’t say, a blackbird?”

Sheppard shot him a coolly amused look,

“Colonel, John’s wanted to fly since he was _three, _I know what a blackbird looks like. No, it looked – it didn’t look like it should be _able_ to fly.”

“Huh.”

“It… This is going to sound like complete science fiction, but it looked a bit like a bug.”

Cam’s heart sank. That sounded _horribly_ like a Tel’tak, their search just went from needle in a haystack to needle in several barns full of needles. He’d assumed it’d been a ground assault.

“Sheppard, I’d like you to come with me and see if you can point out which …aircraft you think it is you saw…”

** **

***

Lindsey Novak fought back against the hacker. What’s more, the doctor was winning. Sam redoubled her efforts to get sublight propulsion working from within the Asgard tech control room. Her forced move from her previous hidey-hole meant they’d lost precious time as the ship drifted towards the asteroid belt (well, dust belt) surrounding the Pulsar, rather than anywhere near the star’s poles. Lindsey had bought her time; she’d been the one who secured the all-but-forgotten control room. _Novak_ was also the one fighting on two virtual fronts to prevent the Lucian Alliance from overrunning the entirety of the _Hammond’s_ systems. It was the least Sam could do to actually finish her, well, _their_ plan now. Mad as it was.

With one final burst of effort Carter rapidly bypassed the final safeties that meant sublights were only controllable from the bridge (and secondary bridge) consoles. She hastily rescanned the lines of code, then pressed enter.

No more ‘random’ bursts from the manoeuvring thrusters. They needed precision now, not stealth.

The angle of approach was _everything_.

Trick the remaining Ha’taks into thinking the _Hammond_ was trying to make a run for it. Approach the pulsar from the equator, but get the enemy ships approaching from the poles. Then watch as the deadly burst of radiation the decaying star emitted fried the ships sitting in its path.

With any luck, the fact that the _Hammond_ used Asgard shielding technology rather than crappy Goa’uld tech, and their approach at the relatively low-energy equator well away from the directional emissions of radiation from the poles, would prevent the vessel from coming to any serious harm.

Sam prepared to make the final, deadly, announcement over the shipwide comms,

“This is Carter to all personnel. Code Icarus. I repeat Code Icarus. This is not a drill.”

It was a hell of a risk. But Carter wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least give her crew a _chance_ to get to safety. Carter met Captain-Doctor Novak’s eyes as she made the call. Of anyone aboard ship, Lindsey was probably the crewmember who best understood the potential ramifications of what was about to go down. Novak looked as serious as Sam had ever seen her, but the woman was not hiccupping, Lindsey nodded tersely and got back to typing. A few minutes later Novak called out,

“Got them.”

Sam shot a quizzical glance the doctor’s way. Novak sounded grimly satisfied,

“Oh, I locked the hacker out of our systems. And I’ve locked the room surrounding the console they were using to access the systems. Whoever they are, they’re trapped in conference room 3b.”

“Good work.”

“Thanks!”

Novak shot Sam a tight smile and got back to work. Between them they might just be able to bypass the multitude of redundancies protecting the air supply safeties after all. Carter had resigned herself to the potential for a shootout, but if the pulsar did its job, then that dead man’s switch wouldn’t matter, and she could get back to Plan A.

***

Daniel was in his office, trying to pick up the intriguing line of research that had been triggered in Atlantis, about the Goa’uld from the era of Ra, and the sarcophagus development again, the book on Isis and Osiris open on his desk, when Jack strolled in,

“Daniel.”

“Jack.” Daniel replied warily.

“I need you to get out there and see if you can light a fire under any of Vala’s old buddies.”

Daniel blinked owlishly, then the information sank in.

“What?!”

“Yeah, if anyone will be able to get those guys to tell us anything it’ll be you Danny boy.”

Daniel tried pleading,

“Jack, I just don’t see why you’re sending _me_ out there. Surely your job is to _stop_ me going off and doing dangerous stuff.”

“Well, let’s see Danny, Mitchell’s in Area 51, Carter’s missing, so’s Sheppard and Vala, and I need Teal’c to safely carry out the Rite of Malaga.”

“Mal’sharran.”

Jackson’s correction of Jack’s mangling of the word was automatic.

“Yes, that.” O’Neill widened his eyes at his geek, “Danny I _need_ you out there.”

“Why?”

“Mitchell got in touch again. It was a Tel’tak.”

Daniel’s heart sank. This felt like Sha’re all over again. Their people could be _anywhere_ in the Milky Way. Even with Earth’s fleet of 304s, the hunt for the people who’d been taken had just grown exponentially in scope. Daniel spotted Jack’s worried face all over again, sighed, and pushed his glasses up his nose. He pursed his lips when he realised the ‘space monkey’ pout was in full bloom; despite himself Jack always managed to bring out the inner grad student in him,

“Oh alright, but don’t blame me if it all goes wrong. You weren’t there last time Vala sent us off on a wild goose chase across the galaxy. And she’s not even around to ease the way this time.”

Jack slapped Daniel on the back, deliberately misunderstanding the rant,

“That’s the spirit!”

Daniel turned fully to face Jack annoyed, and double took at how worn he looked. It was only then that Jackson realised how haggard O’Neill was, he was in clean clothes, and he’d clearly showered, from the clean soap smell Daniel was getting… But his old teammate looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, forget bags, his eyes were _hollows_ in his face.

Daniel blinked owlishly as the new information presented itself, and asked,

“_Jack_… When did you get back from DC?”

“Oh, half an hour ago.”

Jack waved his hand dismissively, Jackson risked another question, knowing even as he spoke what the answer would be,

“Did you get beamed over by the Ap-“

“No,” Jack sounded sheepish, “transport plane.”

“Jack!”

No wonder. If Jack had been awake anywhere near as long as Daniel had, and worse – unlike Daniel who’d been shopping, then smoothing things over with the police after Teyla had rather definitively taken down her attackers… Well, Daniel had heard about the pile of rubble that _used_ to be a sizeable office block in Washington DC. That’d been _Homeworld Command_. Jack had been _under_ all that debris not so long ago.

The real world came rushing back in, Daniel had gotten so caught up in his work again, the familiar groove of bantering back and forth with his friend had been automatic comforting and unthinking.

“Sorry, sorry Jack. I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking. Are you okay? I, I heard what happened. Hell, look around, we’re still sorting out the SGC.” Daniel shrugged helplessly in lieu of an explanation, “Teyla wanted to make sure our people were alright when we realised it wasn’t just us.”

Daniel squinted at Jack’s grey visage, when the older man didn’t visibly react to that confession, “Why are you here anyway? Even ignoring the lack of sleep, shouldn’t you be in DC sorting things out there?”

Jack waved all of Daniel’s questions away impatiently,

“Landry’s in DC. He can deal with all that.”

“_Jack_.” Daniel let some of the old worry and exasperation with his friend’s lack of care for himself seep into his tone, “Come on, you could have taken the time to get some slee-“

“No! No I damn well couldn’t!” Jack interrupted, and started pacing, voice low and urgent, “Those rat bastards attacked us on all fronts. Homeworld Command is _gone_ Danny, I watched a young boy willingly run to his death to save- to save us all…”

Daniel winced as Jack’s voice cracked and his shoulders hunched up. Daniel was on the verge of reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder when Jack turned to face him, angrily rattling off a list that got more dire the longer it went on,

“I’ve been getting reports of attacks and kidnappings coming in from across the globe, the SGC got turned into a warzone, Nellis was stormed, did you know the C_hair’s_ buried again?”

Jack shot Daniel a look so bleak it took Daniel’s breath away,

“That’s just preliminary reports Danny. We don’t _have_ footage from the whole time the gate was open. It was open for thirty-one minutes, but we’ve only got fifteen minutes of CCTV. _But_ personnel who were in the mountain when this shitshow went down are missing. Did they go through the gate? Maybe? We don’t know! I’ve got reports here from people who swear blind there’s no possible way they could have got out, because the invaders were dialling in the whole time. So where did they go? Out through the mountain? I’ve got _other_ people who’ll swear no one got past them. It’s a _mess_ Danny.”

Daniel opened his mouth, but Jack got there first,

“And that’s just the people we _know_ about.”

“What do you mean?”

“What about the people who haven’t reported in, huh? The SGC has left behind so many strays over the years…”

***

“Ah, yes Colonel Sheppard. Ready to capitulate yet?”

“No.”

John got a painful electric jolt for his troubles. At least, he figured it was electric. Things were getting fuzzy, they’d kept this up for what seemed like hours. Athena’s hated face swam into view, he couldn’t quite focus anymore,

“Now now. If you don’t behave, I shall have to dispose of you.”

A tall shaven man was dragged in spitting and cursing all the way,

“What the fuck do you want with me, you freaks!?”

John desperately sought for some sort of distraction, even as he helplessly watched the other guy getting inexorably dragged into their little drama. Through a mouth that didn’t want to cooperate, he slurred,

“What’s with all the Egyptian iconography anyway?” I thought you were supposed to be Greek, where’s your owl? All I’m seeing are scorpions and cows and ibises….

Athena’s expression went black.

Damn, John had just enough time to curse his smart mouth before he was backhanded hard enough, he was seeing stars. Still reeling, John watched muzzily as the goons threw angry guy to the ground at Athena’s feet. For a moment it looked as if he was going to lunge for her, but she extended a hand casually. A reddish glow appeared in the centre of her palm, and the guy started writhing on the floor.

Still torturing the poor bastard, Athena turned to John and said conversationally,

“This here is Sgt Spencer of the United States Marine Corps.”

When the man was left sobbing on the floor, Athena nodded to her henchmen, who strung the poor guy up in the same spot Joe had been in. John realised he should have recognised the look, the guy physically _embodied_ the marine corps through and through, right down to the lack of hair.

“Now, Sgt Spencer here is related to our dear departed Joe Spencer. You know, the man I killed as a _lesson_ for you when you _refused_ to help me?”

Athena was clearly in a playful mood, John blinked as she continued to be altogether too chatty,

“Of course, he carries the ATA gene.”

John wasn’t sure if she expected him to contribute. He stared blankly at her instead,

“So you see _Colonel_,” John’s rank was spat like a curse, “His gene is almost certainly nowhere near as strong as your own.”

Athena reached out and trailed her fingers over Spencer’s chin. To the man’s credit, he tried to lash out at her as she did so,

“Yes Sergeant, your poor, not mad after all, Uncle Joe failed to live up to my expectations, and, so, I killed him.”

John noted the flinch came at expectations, not killed. He quashed the automatic officer’s observation angrily. The poor guy didn’t need John’s two-cent psychology on top of his crappy day, he’d been kidnapped by this psycho, possibly didn’t even know about aliens, and now had found out she’d killed some of his family? Damn. John tried not to let his unease show, he was technically the ranking officer in this room, he couldn’t let his fear get to the other guy,

“Now regardless of how useless his ATA expression is, Sgt Spencer here may prove _very_ useful to me indeed. You see Colonel, he’s a manic depressive with suspected PTSD. His brain chemistry is so very fascinatingly far from the _norm,”_ here Athena shot Spencer a sly look, “that I really don’t know what interacting with Ancient technology will do to him.”

John watched in horrified fascination as the guy’s fearful wince was almost immediately sublimated into anger. The worst thing was Athena was right, if Spencer was any Sergeant of his, the guy wouldn’t be working, he’d be shipped straight off for therapy,

“Screw you, bitch!”

Spencer it seemed had finally had enough.

“You wait til I’m done with you!”

Spencer was struggling hard enough against his bonds that blood was running down his arms and neck. John felt sick. He could tell what was coming next, even as Athena smugly glanced his way to make sure he was still watching, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene playing out in front of him.

“Now, Sgt Spencer, I want you to activate this device for me.”

“No way in hell you bitch! If you think I’m gonna do a single thing you say, you’ve got another thing comi-“

Athena lashed out with the pain stick, that up until that moment, had been innocuously held in her other hand. After the inevitable screams Spencer was left panting in his bonds. Whilst the guy probably didn’t have the best judgement, which given the situation was understandable, John had to give him that. He was brave.

“You know Spencer, you _are_ expendable. I’ve got people in position even now, who’re willing to fetch more of you Tau’ri fools for me to play with.”

Even after all that, Spencer was still glaring murder in Athena’s direction. Athena deliberately left him chained to the wall like a dog and called in the next prisoner.

Her weird Jaffa guys obeyed with alacrity. John shot them a nasty look, but it went unnoticed.

The next poor soul the Goa’uld paraded in front of him was a _child_.

Spencer’s murderous glare ramped up, even trussed up and ignored behind the bitch. Athena practically _cooed_, looking disturbingly proprietorial,

“Orlin here is the missing link between Tau’ri and… the _Ancients_ as you call them.”

John eyed up the practically catatonic boy who was staring blankly at the wall, was that drool?

“Good for him.”

_Athena, _what a ridiculous affectation, she failed utterly to live up to the moniker of embodied wisdom from what John could tell, grinned nastily. She was clearly in the mood for a full-on Bond-villain rant,

“Unfortunately, the catastrophic brain damage he suffered makes him an unsuitable host.”

“Really? I’d have thought all that extra space would mean more room for you.”

Athena seemed to realise that she’d let more information slip than she’d intended, scowling she snapped out,

“Nothing of the host survives.”

“Please! Even _I_ don’t believe that crap, and the only Goa’uld I ever met was some nameless flunky you guys forced into Caldwell.”

John shut his mouth with a click, he’d been channelling McKay more than a little there. Sure enough, Athena’s beautiful face twisted into a snarl, she marched over and backhanded John. His head snapped around with the force of it. Right. Snakehead. Superstrength. Her long beautifully tended nails caught his cheek and jaw, leaving sharp lines of pain behind.

“You will learn your place _slave_.”

“Nah. Don’t think so. Uglier bitches than you have tried to get me on my knees.”

Athena’s eyes glittered with malice at that idea, John hurriedly continued the sentence,

“Guess what? They all ended up dead shortly afterwards.” John shrugged as well as he could, given the restraints, “It’s a habit of mine.”

“Now now Colonel. You’ve seen the stakes. You behave, you save all those people. Do you honestly think they’re the only Tau’ri I’ve gotten hold of?”

Ignoring John pointedly she pushed the gadget at the boy, he blinked blankly at it. It glowed dimly in his presence but didn’t activate. Snarling, Athena ordered,

“Take the useless cretin away!”

Athena was clearly embarrassed by the performance of her prized specimen. With one final zap from the hated pain stick, they were left alone.

“So…” John drawled between pained breaths, “First time?”

Spencer just glared.

“She left us alone in here. We should probably try to work our-“

Spencer stared at the shrivelled corpse lying forlornly beneath the ominous table in the centre of the room. Despite the degradation, he clearly recognised it. Voice distant he said,

“She said it was your fault Uncle Joe died.”

Crap. Yeah, the worst thing was the kid was right. You never left a man behind. But, there Joe Spencer was, left behind. He’d have to do it again too. It was his duty as an officer, he gave the snake what she wanted, and it was all over, probably in ways John hadn’t even imagined.

Spencer glared poison at him and stared pointedly at the things floating obscenely in jars around the lab rather than look at him. Sheppard resigned himself to silently trying to keep up circulation in muscles already constricted for too long.

***

Carter spotted something alarming on the shipwide security system, without thinking she flicked the intercom and shouted into the mic,

“Ronon! Get out of there!”

Dex was holed up far too close to the outer hull. They were about to fly into the beam of deadly radiation emitted by the star’s poles at any moment.

“Dex, don’t make me repeat myself! Make way to the central corridor! That’s an order!”

Ronon shot a bloody grin at the Lucian Alliance thug he was in a standoff against and made a run for the nearest bulkhead towards the inner cabins of the ship. Sam watched with her heart in her mouth, he made it to the doorway – the pulsar lit up.

The image on the screen gave way to blinding white. Sam slammed her fist down on the console in frustration as the signal remained stubbornly dead. She, she didn’t know if he’d made it.

Novak looked at her in concern, quiet despair writ across the slump to her shoulders, but continued working. There was nothing else they could do. If they didn’t finish this, that desperate insane gambit would all have been for nothing.

Across the _Hammond_, control crystals fried, and circuitry burned. In the cabins along the aft side of the hull, anything organic vaporised instantly. The less critical plastic wiring insulation, plastic mess trays, cheap cotton bedding, _people_. Sam had deliberately backed the exhaust ports of the engines towards the star’s pole to minimise the damage to the _Hammond_, the shielding there was extra thick to account for the radiation the engines put out. However, even with that extra layer of naquadah laced trinium alloy and ceramic shielding, anyone who’d been in the outermost aft cabins when the pulsar lit up was dead. Vaporised.

As it was, a few of the cabins towards the aft along the port-side of the ship were giving off alarming error readings, even a glancing brush from the pulsar had done significant damage.

Sam only hoped it was worth it. Until they got external sensors back online, they had no clue whether the Ha’taks dogging them had survived the insane manoeuvre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks to [thiefnessman](/users/thiefnessman/), who had some useful anecdotes about the sorts of goings on that tend to happen at Denny's!
> 
> With a couple of extremely minor exceptions just about everyone on the extended cast-list is a canon character that's turned up in SG-1, SGA, or SGU at some point. 
> 
> I twisted canon slightly to claim that Joe and Sgt Spencer are related - if you're curious look up the two actors, there's a weird resemblance there! (Joe Spencer, somewhat infamously was played by Dan Castellaneta, aka the voice actor for Homer Simpson, bringing the self-referential jokes to a new high in the episode he guest starred in!)
> 
> Satterfield was played by Grace Park, famous for Boomer in the Battlestar remake and Kono in the Hawaii 50 remake.
> 
> Joe Spencer - barber who shared O'Neill's brain for years via the communication stones.  
Sgt Spencer - SGU regular, USMC Sergeant with medical issues.  
Dr Lindsay Novak - BC-303/304 engineer who kept getting the hiccups, saved the day when Vala hijacked the Prometheus. In charge of Asgard tech with Hermiod on the Daedalus.  
Dr Lindsay, one of the potential SG-1 candidates Cam rejected, she later turned up in SGA as an expedition scientist, helping out the locals.  
Dr Esposito, another SGA character, Rodney embarrassed himself by reading her mind in Tao of Rodney.  
Dr Palmer, SGU character, she dies pretty quickly...  
Dr Franklin, SGU-regular, seemed to be a hydroponics specialist, (possibly ascended)  
Dr Felger - SG-1 recurring character, broke the gate network!  
Dr Brightman - recurring background character in SG-1 and SGU, medical doctor  
Colonel Reynolds - recurring SG-1 character, second in command at SGC starting under Hammond, continuing with Landry  
Colonel Edwards - in charge of the mining team in the first episode Lorne shows up in in SG-1  
Colonel Dixon - gate team leader in SG-1 ep Heroes, needed rescuing, Janet Frasier dies.
> 
> ...and, well... you get the idea!  
One thing I have discovered by mining Stargate canon so deeply, well - between David Sheppard, David Dixon, David Telford, David Parrish _and_ the two Lindsays... Well, suddenly Sheppard's Mitch and Dex and the later appearance of Cameron Mitchell and Ronon Dex make a horrible sort of sense... There was quite a bit of name repetition going on!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and a bad time is had by all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long plotty one!
> 
> WARNINGS - generic Stargate-canon-typical torture. Nothing too graphic here, Athena prefers to keep her hands clean after all. But please take note!

** Chapter 8: **

  
Sheppard was starving, what he wouldn’t give for one of those weird new First Strike Rations the SGC was guinea pigging, or… he could do with one of those high calory MCWs that’d been prevalent at McMurdo. No… John _craved_ one of the British cold climate ORP packs.

Like most international bases, there was a brisk trade on Atlantis amongst the military services that made up Lantis’s battalion for the numerous MRE, and MRE-equivalents their respective countries supplied. Usually, anything from mainland Europe was gold dust; from the ‘cooked by real chefs’ RCIRs and RIERs the French got, the Italian ration with its shot of booze, anything by JOMIPSA in Spain, who produced rations for the UN and approximately 30 other nations, including Portugal, with their fish focused MREs, and the ridiculous UAE MREs with their high quality coffee. …Or heading to the Far East, the Japanese JSDFs, Indonesian rations with their delicious mains and always bizarre drinks - Minsals 1 2 & 3, and Minkal. South Korean RoK MREs were the most sought after - worth a huge amount on Lantis’s brisk black market…

But no, the middling 5500 calory British cold climate 24-hour ORP sounded like a little slice of heaven, loaded with carbs, fat and sugar… One of those would be the equivalent of nirvana… Shep could practically _taste_ the bland creaminess of the muesli oatmeal breakfast thingy or… John couldn’t quite believe his mouth was watering, the weird crunchy ‘oat biscuit’ things that came in sweet stem ginger and cheese flavour… The strangely perfect off-brand Gatorade… The chemically 3 in 1 coffee… The staple boiled sweets… Lemon and blackcurrant…

Even good old MRE cheese sounded like heaven right now… Or hell, the good-bad old MREs back in the day. When it was still possible to make Ranger Pudding out of the supplied peanut butter, Hot Chocolate Type I and Instant coffee Type II… Or no… John thought right back, all the way to his early days in the service in the 90s when the infamous Four Fingers of Death was still a menu option. Four smoked frankfurters vacuum packed unattractively into their retort pouch; those things were the real _Frankenstein_ of the frankfurter world.

However, after that self-enforced Death March across the Balkans, and hitting the frontlines of allied territory, the Four Fingers of Death had simultaneously been the best _and_ worst meal he’d ever eaten. Shep could _still_ taste the overly strong artificial liquid smoke even now, nearly twenty years later. He’d practically inhaled the horrible things, then nearly vomited them all up as his shrivelled stomach objected to John’s choice of first meal. A pouch of four shelf-stable frankfurters, the best, or rather, only decent thing he’d eaten in nearly two months… It’d been heavenly.

Yeah, he was daydreaming about MREs… John knew _that_ couldn’t be good. At least it wasn’t daydreams about the dreaded veggie omelette MRE aka the vomlet. That pitiful attempt at a breakfast menu was finally replaced with the maple sausage patty this year, to almost everyone’s relief. (Stackhouse claimed he _liked_ the vomlets; there was always one.) From the frequent trades and swaps that went on amongst Lantis’s military cohort over the years, John knew pretty much _everyone_ outside of perhaps China, supplied more palatable soldier’s rations than the infamous vomlet. Not even Rodney would touch those things, though Ronon and Teyla tended to scoff at Earther fussiness and chow down on them, complaining about artificial additives all the while.

At least Vala and Rush were (mostly) alright. He’d been dragged in and out of the lab of horrors as some kind of proof of life ploy. Unfortunately, John had barely been conscious at the time, but _next_ time, he’d get some information out, or at least give Vala one of many objects that were miraculously still secreted about his person.

John shifted in his restraints, reawakening long-since gone-dead muscles. The agony of blood reperfusing tissue brought him back to the here and now, tearing John away from plotting his escape, and pleasant daydreams of meals gone by. They’d left him hanging in his bonds in the Goa’uldy lab of horrors, which should have been a mistake on their part. Only, he’d tried to work his way out of the restraints keeping him pinned to the wall - Almost before John could contemplate dislocating his thumb, the tentacally looking metal thing that had a firm grip on his wrist tightened. Nauseatingly it ground the bones in the joint together in obvious threat, before relaxing back to merely painfully tight when Shep stopped struggling.

After an absolute age, Athena marched back in, derailing his hazy attempts to plan what to do next,

“Activate the device Colonel Sheppard.”

Despite the misery that awakened every time he shifted; John made sure to inject maximum insolent drawl into his voice. He met her gaze deliberately,

“No.”

The pain stick came back.

John was left panting for breath. The stick hovering threateningly just in front of his nose, reddish energy crackling between the prongs. It was wildly frustrating, ‘cause he could _feel_ her guys hadn’t found all his hidden tricks. One of them was chafing his wrist right alongside the damned metal vine sprouting from the wall.

“Changed you mind?”

“No.”

The pain stick returned – this time Athena jabbed it into the back of his neck before he’d even recovered from the previous encounter.

It knocked all thought from his mind.

John could hear screaming.

Oh.

It was him.

_Finally_ the stick moved away, John hung by the tendrils harshly securing his wrists, gasping. Minute tremors shook his frame, undermining his attempts to get hold of himself. John spat blood, and tried for blasé,

“Well, that was bracing.”

John was betting on the fact that his ATA gene, and his _experience_ using the technology were both too valuable for her to dispose of him the same way she had Joe Spencer. She sneered and the pain stick edged closer yet again.

“There’s no use resisting you know. It won’t do you, or anyone else any good.” Athena smiled triumphantly, “My people successfully subverted Area 51 and your foolish leaders don’t know anything about it.”

The device was waved under his nose,

“Go to hell.”

Athena growled angrily and pressed something on her wrist. This time the probes connected to his skull whited out John’s world.

***

Once he started digging around for inconsistencies in the SGC’s security, Rodney couldn’t quite believe how leaky a boat the SGC’s servers were. It was a wonder the programme wasn’t public knowledge by now. As well as the open secret that was Lee’s backdoor to enable him to play WoW in his labs (when the severely-lacking-in-judgment scientist was waiting for experiments to finish running), Rodney found no fewer than five other workarounds in the firewalls. They were all closed with prejudice by the time he finished hunting them down.

The programme he’d set to chewing its way through the depths of the internet for any sort of chatter about Stargates, Area 51, and planned attacks had borne disturbing fruit too. Rodney had been alarmed to discover a plan for a mass ‘Let’s go find us some aliens!’ protest at Area 51, being organised plain as day on _Facebook_ of all places. Besides sending the details on to the guys at Area 51, whose jobs it was to deal with such stuff, he didn’t waste much precious time on it.

Worse still was the SCP Rodney dug up, _clearly written by_ an employee of the programme. Oh, there were no names. No direct references to Goa’uld, Replicators, or the Stargate Programme. But the ‘fictional’ entry to the Creepypasta-esque site was unmistakably based on the goings on at the SGC. There were too many parallels.

Parasitical leeches that wrap themselves around the victims’ brains, and proceed to take charge of the world’s governments? Unstoppable mechanical cockroaches that had to be contained in specialised EM field containers lest they eat their way out of the facility integrating the other SCPs as they went? _Please_. It was so transparent as to be embarrassing.

Rodney easily traced the IP address back to one Dr Caine’s home address. For Curie’s sake! The guy was in _IT_! For the love of- it was one thing to forget, but it was just plain _embarrassing_ when the leaker hadn’t even bothered to cover up his tracks.

McKay sent his details on to security with no little pleasure.

A few hours later Rodney found out Caine was one of the Za’tarcs everyone was so jumpy about. Which added a frisson of guilty understanding to the doctor’s actions, perhaps it had been the closest thing to a cry for help the man could get out there, with the brainwashing hampering him at every turn?

Rodney’s programme, tracing back the probable deletions in the security footage he’d spotted earlier was _still_ running. Between the signal snow of the invasion itself, and the hundreds of cameras around the base, it was going to take a while. Especially without access to the speeds of Atlantis’s processors.

Meanwhile, Rodney was busying himself beefing up the woeful safety features on the SGC gate. Sure, McKay had broken the Lantean gate a few times himself, but the SGC gate was in the _stone age_. No wonder the Lucian Alliance were able to get in so easily. Rodney identified and deleted the weakness in the iris code, before adding a few lines of his own, to reinstate some of the safety features a DHD controlled gate would already have. _Honestly_, McKay _liked_ Carter, he’d made that painfully obvious over the years, but… Would it _kill_ her to take some time out to fix this decrepit mess of ancient 90s-era computing jury rigged to the gate?

He knew the woeful workarounds were hardly her fault, they’d been developed by the American military long before the SGC was a twinkle in General Hammond’s eye, but… Carter really should have replaced some of the pitifully designed systems in the meantime. The gate was effectively being _manually_ dialled by physically moving the inner ring _every_ time it was activated.

Then again, hadn’t that proven to be a boon that one time the whole network crashed? Perhaps Sam hadn’t been so off-piste after- At that thought Rodney guiltily started, Sam hadn’t checked in yet.

It was a source of quiet tension around the base. The _USS Hammond_ fell out of contact around the same time as all the chaos here, after reporting a Ha’tak just dropped out of hyperspace. No one heard from them since. Ronon, and a whole host of the Expedition were amongst the members of the ship’s manifest.

Yet another worry on top of the already jumpy atmosphere of distrust that came from the fact that a sizeable proportion of the military personnel were locked up in the isolation floors. They were stuck pending confirmation that they weren’t brainwashed zombies anymore. The obvious signs of destruction all around the base only added to the general air of unease. McKay fervently wished he were on Atlantis; he couldn’t fathom why he’d allowed himself to be talked into coming here.

He’d gotten the news from Radek hours ago, no trace of Sheppard’s subcutaneous transmitter on Atlantis’s sensors. Which, well… confirmed the worst. Shakily he got back to trying to identify the piece of tech that took out so many of their people. Sheppard was missing, it was a distraction. He’d been missing before. Rodney gulped thickly. He’d been _dead_ before and come back. The infuriating man had more lives than a cat! He was sure the Colonel was sunning it up on a beach somewhere completely oblivious to the stress and pain he was causing his teammates.

They _needed_ to find out if the effects of the device were long lasting or not. Everything he’d seen so far pointed to the effects ending as soon as Satterfield foolishly turned it off. But. There was no way to be certain. Until then, the SGC was down a fifth of its military contingent, and that was ignoring the ongoing clean-up at Area 51 _and_ trying to establish just how many individual attacks there’d actually been. What had they been after? _The_ _Odyssey_? The chair? Some piece of alien technology?

Someone had tried to snatch _Teyla_.

Now Teyla, being Teyla had broken them all without so much as breaking a sweat. But still! Teyla! Something fishy was going on, Teyla’s description of the men who’d tried to grab her very much implied they were Earth born and raised. Not Lucian Alliance.

Rodney even heard a rumour that the Wormhole Xtreme guy had been targeted, which, no. Just no. It was terrifying that whatever happened had been so very organised, and they’d all been caught completely unawares. Rodney shuddered; it was sheer dumb luck _he_ hadn’t been taken, he knew.

The schematics of the device glittered at him mockingly from the screen. It looked Goa’uld alright. Which was the problem really. Primitive as this tech was, McKay’s speciality these days was Lantean design, not this poorly engineered nonsense.

Rubbing tiredly at dry eyes, Rodney decided he needed another mind working on the problem. Where was Zelenka when he needed him, the lazy Czech - oh right. Atlantis. Rodney sighed, he should have stayed on Atlantis.

The sub-q issue was infuriating, given that Rodney had had the solution for _months_, yet the IOA wouldn’t allow them to use it. They’d been sitting on a successful encrypted Alteran derived version of the Wraith subspace transmitter for a while. Unable to gain permission to try them out on their own personnel.

As a result, they were reliant on Devlin Tech sub-qs, which were utterly useless off-world. Rodney had no way to trace the signal they put out beyond the range their _Daedalus_-class ships could detect. There was absolutely no trace of Sheppard, or any other of their missing sheep on Earth.

Rodney was frantically trying to work out if he could recalibrate Atlantis’s deep space scanners to hunt for the Earth-made sub-qs, but thus far his theories hadn’t met with success. The signal the sub-qs put out was simply too weak to travel through the depths of space. Miko and Radek were both trying their own ideas on Atlantis. But even with the best and brightest members of the Expedition working on the problem, they hadn’t found anything.

Rodney wasn’t convinced they’d _ever_ find anything either. The signal was simply too weak to make it much beyond the confines of a gravity well, let alone the attenuation all the other loud signal noise out in space added to the mix once – or rather _if_ – it made it past atmosphere; what with pulsars, coronal mass ejections, and even the background radiation of the big bang to compete with.

Deciding his blood sugar was acting up, Rodney left the CCTV clean-up software running, and went to find some sustenance. Things would look clearer on a full stomach.

***

Jake kept a wary eye on the new occupants of the cell block as they were dragged in. He’d been stuck in this hellhole for months; oh, they’d tried to trick him at first. Make him think the IOA finally got their heads out of their collective asses about his usefulness as an asset, but Jake wasn’t born yesterday, despite Loki’s machinations. He’d seen through their act and ended up down here for his pains.

There were an awful lot of SGC personnel being thrown into the cells. For crying out loud! How incompetent were the people running the show these days? He waited for the Jaffa to leave before risking conversation, he’d learnt that lesson a while ago,

“Everyone alright over there?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Jake – who’re you?”

“Dr Felger.”

“Felger?! Oh for crying out loud!”

“General O’Neill?!”

Wait what?

“_General_?” Jake repeated warily.

“Oh my god I’m going to have to rescue everyone all over again! Never fear sir! Jay Felger is here!”

The gold bulkhead groaned open arthritically, cutting off Felger mid-boast. A loud mouthy sergeant was thrown into the cells, looking like he’d been on the wrong end of Athena’s pain stick.

Crap. Jake used his best officer voice,

“Sergeant! Report!”

There was a nasty glare on the fella’s face, but he responded to the tone,

“This bitch is torturing people. That’s what’s going on. She’s got that idiot light bird up there refusing to talk.”

Through the grill Jake watched the Sergeant resentfully spit a mouthful of blood on the floor,

“He wouldn’t talk no matter what she did. To me, Uncle Joe, that kid, Or…” The expression changed from resentment to grudging respect, “Tough sonofabitch …to him.”

Jake grimaced. He had a pretty good idea what _that_ meant. He’d put up with her tender mercies himself. She was nearly as bad as Ba’al.

“Got a name for that Colonel, Sergeant?”

The sergeant’s face twisted with suspicion,

“Who’re you anyway?”

“Jake O’Neill. Yourself?”

From way down the other end of the row of cells Felger interrupted,

“Don’t you know Sergeant Spencer? That’s General _O’Neill_!”

At that the other scientists, at least O’Neill assumed they were geeks, all started shouting over each other at once. At least one of them stridently denying that O’Neill was O’Neill – which. Point.

“Shut up! One at a time guys.”

***

Daniel squared his shoulders and prepared to step through the wormhole. Without Vala they’d have to do this the hard way, not that Vala’s way was easy, or even reliable. He side-eyed the volunteers who’d offered their services, Teyla Emmagan, leader of the Athosian people, and de facto representative of the Pegasus Galaxy on Earth, Lieutenant James, ex-AFSOC, and stand-in for Colonel Mitchell, and Captain-Doctor Satterfield. It didn’t escape Daniel’s notice that only one member of the Atlantis Expedition had been allowed off world, despite the obvious strategic advantage in employing experienced gate team members who weren’t infamous across the Milky Way as Tau’ri. But what did Daniel know, he’d only been a member of the SGC since before they’d opened the gate. Not that he was bitter or anything.

Emmagan looked remarkably serene as they waited for the gate to dial, though she did turn around and ask,

“Are all gates in this galaxy so… ponderous?”

It took an embarrassingly long time for Daniel to parse her meaning. He had a sinking feeling he’d pulled that pinched, eyebrows raised, face Jack always called his ‘spacemonkey’ expression, whilst he’d been trying to work it out.

“Oh! That! Well, no, and yes. Milky Way gates are slower than the Pegasus models. But the Earth gate uses a home-made dialling computer rather than a DHD, so it’s …slow.”

“I see. Thank you, Doctor Jackson.”

Behind Teyla, Satterfield wasn’t even trying to hide her laughter. Daniel sighed internally; it had been a mistake keeping the surviving members of that trainee team together. Captain-Doctor Satterfield picked up almost all of Captain Hailey’s bad habits, and worse, she had a sly sense of the absurd inherited from Lt Grogan, that the more literal Hailey lacked.

With relief Daniel stepped through the event horizon. He hadn’t wanted to go on this mission, but the sooner it started, the sooner they’d find their people. The list of the missing was _still_ growing.

***

Vala paced impatiently in her cell. She was getting increasingly concerned about what state they’d drag S.O. back in. If they brought him back. She’d done her best to deflect most of the attention towards herself; Vala had long since learnt the hard way she could take it. And well, the things her hands had done. Better her than anyone else.

Unfortunately for all of them, it hadn’t worked. Athena didn’t seem interested in Vala for anything more than occasional bursts of casual sadism. The Goa’uld had been telling the truth it seemed. Vala was a victim of opportunity, not design. Vala wasn’t holding her breath that the uneasy status quo of mostly going ignored would hold long.

Of the three of them, Sheppard was clearly the focus of her attention. Vala had seen the gleam in the woman’s eye as she’d very deliberately chosen S.O. to go ‘first’. The woman hadn’t paid anywhere near as much attention to Gorgeous when she’d later come to drag him away, proclaiming he was to earn his keep. From what Vala gathered in that all too brief moment of interaction, Rush was forced to work under threat of worsening Sheppard and Vala’s conditions if he didn’t behave.

The one consolation was, assuming her impressions were correct, Rush was being kept as collateral. And, worryingly, as a spare ATA carrier if what she’d overheard, as the Jaffa muttered to each other in Goa’uld seemingly forgetting she was fluent, was true. Rush hadn’t returned to their cell. Though the Jaffa took great joy demonstrating to Vala what she’d be in for if she stepped out of line, so perhaps that was for the best.

Vala felt like crap if she was being honest. Not enough food and water. And all the beatings she could eat. Though nothing that would show to a cursory visual inspection. However, for all her aches and pains, Vala remembered that malicious elation in Athena’s expression. She knew Sheppard had it worse.

The lab was monstrous. As thoroughly among the awful things people would do to each other, as the depravities Vala witnessed on Ori-controlled worlds when villagers _willingly_ burned their fellows alive to appease gods they didn’t believe in. It matched the level of iniquity the peoples of the Stella Via happily sunk to, when it became apparent the power vacuum the System Lords left behind wasn’t about to be filled any time soon.

Vala swallowed back the rage and bile for the umpteenth time as the images of what she’d seen, and what Sheppard said, played out. A lab filled with unspeakable horrors. Rush dragged in, looking, not ill, but far too cynically knowing about the things around him. Sheppard looked _awful_. Even strung up like a rack of meat, he still conspired to tell them what happened to the bald corpse in there with him.

_“For pity’s sake John! We have to get out of here! Now!”_

_“No! We can’t go off on this half-cocked.”_

_“Why not? We’re all here, aren’t we? I say we have a chance.”_

_“Do ye have a secret way out of here you’ve not told us about? Besides have you seen his wrists? I can’t see us working out how to get him free any time soon, can you?”_

Vala could have slapped Rush for his sarcasm, but Sheppard interrupted,

_“Athena all but told me she’s got other prisoners! She shoved that man in my face deliberately. We have to get them out. At any price.”_

_“No! By Seth’s snout! Don’t ask that-”_

_“Yes. Just like P8X-412” _Vala flinched when Sheppard named the former mining planet that had been her sanctuary_, _he continued inexorably_, “or the Sangraal. You’ve done it before.” _

“_No_.” Vala denied.

_“You left Jackson behind, didn’t you? You _can_ do it again.” _

His eyes had been pitiless. Vala had wanted to slap Sheppard. He’d thrown that mission back in her face. Only, he hadn’t done it to hurt her, at least, not primarily. He’d done it to compel her to let _him_ get hurt. Vala shuddered, she’d seen a lot in her time, from the coldness reflected back at her in S.O’s eyes, so had he. But… He’d been right, she understood. Besides, he was still strung up. It wouldn’t have been sporting.

Vala swallowed and got back to working on the plan, by tacit agreement from then on they communicated using a mixture of Tau’ri slang and SGC in-jokes, with a few harried hand signals thrown in. She could only hope their captors hadn’t understood their babble.

The door whooshed open, and Athena shoved a beautiful blonde into the room.

“Ex-host meet ex-host. Sholva to Qetesh meet sholva to Osiris.”

Vala pulled the cloak of con artist around herself, in her most haughty voice she asked,

“And this is supposed to affect me how?”

“I want to use this opportunity learn something from your betrayal.”

“Betrayal! I was captured and enslaved! Driven around by a parasite that wrapped itself around my spine, and you wish to speak to me of betrayal!”

“Oh no, not speak. You misunderstand. I wish to test the physiological differences between Tau’ri and non-Tau’ri hosts.” Athena’s lip curled, “And what better specimens than a Tau’ri dog, and a Stella Via mongrel?”

Vala stared at the newcomer, she was all fiery anger and curls.

“Osiris huh?” Vala turned a sly look on Athena, “How’d that work out for the old bastard?”

Athena’s lip curled, “You’re right. The fool was a relic. Nonetheless. If you wish your little friends to stay alive,” at this Athena looked meaningfully at both Vala _and_ the blonde, “You will do as I command.”

“And what’s that?” blonde asked, her accent, just like Doctor Ingram’s, surprising Vala.

“You will be an example to my Jaffa.”

“An example?”

“You shall be slaves cleaning, tidying, washing… Examples of the menial work they shall be expected to carry out should they fail me. _And_ incentive to your friends to keep behaving.”

Ba’al’s balls! It wasn’t very well something Vala could gracefully refuse that was the worst thing. As demands by a Goa’uld went, it was practically _reasonable_. Hah! Reasonable, Vala had forgotten what normal people considered reasonable years ago. Assuming of course she _ever_ knew, between her father’s less than stellar parenting, and the way she’d found herself sold as literal chattel to a Goa’uld not much later, Vala had to wonder if she’d ever encountered ‘normal’ in her life.

Vala looked up, and realised Athena seemed to be expecting some sort of response,

“_Fine_.” Vala bit out.

***

“Dr Porter? Crap.”

“Colonel Sheppard?”

John stared in horror at the mousey Second Wave Lantean who’d been dragged into the lab of nightmares, unable to police his expression through the haze of sheer exhaustion that loomed over everything, even the pain. Athena looked terribly smug,

“I see you know each other. Excellent.”

Dammit, Teldy’s team were _just_ beginning to get over the loss of Captain Vega, he couldn’t let Porter die on his watch. Not after he’d already failed them.

“Well Sheppard? Will you activate the device?”

John eyed the hated bit of Ancient tech, even now he could feel it trying to light up. Through gritted teeth he bit out,

“No.”

He tried to keep the denial flat, but his voice cracked midway through the word.

“Pity.” Athena turned on Doctor Porter, who was bravely standing her ground, albeit quavering on the spot, “Know this Tau’ri, your suffering is down to him.”

The hand device lit up red, Alison started screaming. John jerked forward in the restraints, but they only pulled him tighter against the wall in response to his struggles. Athena turned a cruel grin his way,

“See what happens when you disobey your goddess?”

Athena left them alone in the lab with a self-satisfied sneer. That was a mistake.

John tried to gather the voice of command, Doc Porter had been through How to Survive the Wraith 101, same as everyone else who’d come to Atlantis after the First Year. She should respond to the tone,

“Doc! You alright?”

She kept quietly sobbing, near silent sniffles that made John’s heart ache. He felt like a monster,

“Doctor Porter! Snap out of it! I need you with me!”

“Ye- yessir.”

Her voice wobbled, but she was back in the room.

“Doc I need you to tell me, how many other prisoners are with you? Did you recognise anyone?”

“They had Doctor Lindsay from Anthropology, and and, Sergeant Ng? And a load of SGC people, uh Doctor …Gardner, she said she was friends with Doctor Jackson? Sorry, we’ve been in Pegasus so long, I – there’s ten of us.”

“No, no that’s fine. You’re doing great doc. Thank you.” John hated to keep pressing, but she was shakily collecting herself even as he was busy feeling guilty, “Which way are they keeping you all?”

“Huh?”

“Where are the cells doc?”

“Oh, we’re down near the engine room.”

John blinked, “How’d you know that?”

“I studied Goa’uld technology at the SGC before Pegasus colonel, knowing the layout of a Ha’tak was just common sense. It’s weird though, those rooms are usually Jaffa barracks. It’s so empty.”

“You noticed too huh.” John tried for reassuring, “Look soon as I work out how, we’re going to get out of here. Okay doc? We’ll cook something up. Promise.”

“O-okay.”

“Do you remember the signals we taught you guys?”

She responded in the affirmative using the aforementioned hand signals. Clever doc. Never should have underestimated her.

“Great doc. I want you to keep that in mind, you hear me?”

“Yes colonel.”

“Now – you noticed anything else weird about the plac-“

Athena came back in,

“Scheming I see.”

Athena sounded amused, John didn’t bother denying it,

“Oh sure, we’re trying to decide what flavour birthday cake you’d like. We were going to braid each other’s hai-”

The expected backhand hurt, but not as much as what followed. The electrodes digging into his skull lit up. John faded out to the sound of Doc Porter begging Athena to stop.

***

“I’m so sorry sir, I have no clue how I got got.”

Hank tried not to let the despair show. Strapped to a gurney, drugged to the gills, _still_ trying to fight the conditioning, and Dixon was trying to apologise to _him_? Landry should be the one apologising; he hadn’t even realised there was a problem with his colonel until it was too late. Instead, and hoping to god what he was feeling wasn’t showing in his voice, Hank said,

“Don’t worry son, it’s not your fault. It seems the LA got their hands on some nasty Goa’uld technology. What’s the last thing you remember clearly?”

“I – I don’ know sir.”

He met Carolyn’s eyes fearfully, she nodded that the colonel’s vitals were holding steady. Trying for encouraging Hank cajoled,

“Think man! Anything at all, no matter how innocuous might help.”

Hank watched as Dixon struggled with himself to get the words out, Teal’c coolly added his own brand of encouragement,

“Indeed. The Rite of M’al Sharran is hazardous Colonel Dixon. You shall need to know yourself wholly.”

Landry wanted to scold Teal’c for his candour, but the man _had_ been through this. He knew _exactly_ what he was talking about. Eventually Dixon worked up the strength to spit the words out, the effort clearly costing him,

“I – this is gonna put me in a bad light sir.”

Hank tried to sound encouraging, “Colonel.” He reconsidered, gingerly he patted the man’s restrained hand and said, “David.”

A tremulous smile flitted across Dixon’s face, before the rage suffused him again. It took Carolyn more than ten minutes to find the right combination of drugs and external stimuli to get him nearly lucid. The 180 left Dixon panting and exhausted on the gurney. Voice low, he murmured,

“I remember thinking I was gonna learn that disgrace Sheppard a lesson.”

Somehow Hank wasn’t surprised,

“Sheppard?”

“Yessir.”

Dixon looked shamefaced.

“Nothing serious sir, just a bit o’ light hazing, was gonna ask the airmen on KP duty to set aside a special pudding cup for him. If you catch my meaning. I got around to noticing he always took a pudding cup, and I just remember being sure he needed taking down a peg or two. Then – then nothing sir. It’s like I’m me, but I’m not _me_.”

Carolyn looked up from where she was monitoring Dixon’s vitals, her tone tense,

“General, Colonel Dixon is under _some strain_.”

Her meaningful glare wasn’t needed. Dixon looked _awful_, grey under the sheen of sweat. Landry stepped away from the isolation room feeling dissatisfied with the answers he’d gotten. Or rather the lack of answers. He nodded to his daughter,

“Very well, we’ll stop this for now. David, get some rest.”

They began to file out of the room, leaving Carolyn to her ministrations,

“There’s got to be some other way Teal’c. Yes, we’ve saved people from the brainwashing before, but we’ve lost people too. It’s too risky. Especially in Dixon’s state.”

As they got to the doorjamb Dixon called out,

“I almost killed people, hell I think I _did_ kill people sir. It’s the least I can do.” Even strapped down as he was, twitching spasmodically, underneath the strain the fear was palpable. Dixon swallowed, “Time for some thrilling heroics.”

Hank regretted all over again that he’d gotten back to the SGC just in time for _this_ to be the first thing on his docket. He’d barely been able to talk Patricia Armstrong down from going public, and now _this_.

From the corner of his eye Landry watched Carolyn’s expression turn to stone. She hadn’t agreed to any of this. She was here under protest. Landry nodded to Teal’c, who’d volunteered himself for this unpleasant task. He’d said, _“Just as Bra’tac did this for me, then I shall do this for you Colonel Dixon_.”

Ever since Master Bra’tac’s success in carrying out the Rite of Mal’sharran for Teal’c all those years ago, and the disastrous attempt by the Tok’ra scientist Anise to find a technological method to break the conditioning, Teal’c took it upon himself to carry out the Rite of Mal’sharran whenever the Tau’ri had need of it. It wasn’t always successful.

Hank didn’t like to think of the toll that self-imposed duty exacted.

Bra’tac was wheeled in, still wheelchair bound, to observe. Despite the danger, the old Jaffa reached out a hand to comfort the colonel,

“This is a brave thing you are doing Colonel Dixon.”

Dixon sent a trembling smile in Bra’tac’s direction,

“Can’t do something smart, then do something right.”

Even as Dixon put a brave face on it, the conditioning was visibly taking over. Bra’tac’s presence had the colonel straining at his bonds, hands clenching and unclenching as though he wanted to put them around Bra’tac’s neck. Hank knew that’s exactly what his colonel was trying to do. He hated deliberately putting this group through this, on top of everything else he was asking of them. Landry hustled Bra’tac out of the room, gruffly adding,

“Come on, we’ll go to the observation room, for his sake.”

Bra’tac nodded in acquiescence and allowed himself to be wheeled off. Hank turned back to Dixon, no _Dave_, and nodded,

“Good luck son.”

Carolyn looked resigned and angry.

***

The ancienty thing was shoved in John’s face. He ignored it.

“You bring this on yourself you know.” Athena trilled gleefully. “Your resistance achieves nothing; I have people throughout your organisation willing to do my bidding.”

John tried not to let that nasty little revelation look as if it hit as hard as it had. But… damn, if she was telling him this, the bitch was confident he wouldn’t be escaping any time soon.

“Oh very well.” Athena gave a theatrical sigh, “I did warn you.”

She turned and snapped at her weedy technician guy,

“Remove the motivators.”

John couldn’t quite keep the puzzled expression off his face, even as he managed to quash the flinch when her goon came near,

“Don’t think you won’t be punished for your continued refusal to carry out an extremely simple task. No. I don’t want to completely melt your brain in your skull.”

The electrode things hurt nearly as much coming out as they had going in. By the time John blinked the tears away, unable to prevent the pain from making his eyes water, he realised they’d lowered the force field on Todd’s little cell.

Oh.

_Fuck_.

Oh no.

John reeled, he blinked rapidly trying to bring the world back into focus, as if that would do him any damned good.

Not again.

Not this.

She snapped her hands, and Todd was dragged forward. John figured they were gonna get around to this. He’d known, the dread had been there ever since he’d seen his old ally eat Joe. But he’d squashed it down in a box. Tried to focus. Fat help now.

It was a good thing the tendrils were holding him up, John’s legs had gone to water.

John tried to steady his breathing.

Don’t hyperventilate.

Don’t let the bitch see you sweat John…

Oh fuck.

In a weird way that other boot finally dropping was almost a relief. The Jaffa uncuffed Todd. Impatiently, Athena bit out,

“Well? Go on!”

“I am sorry John Sheppard.”

John found himself focussing intensely on Todd’s face. Todd looked awful, he looked almost as bad as when they’d both been Kolya’s captives. John caught himself fixating on the wraith’s familiar tattoo. It was as if his body knew he was unlikely to be around for much longer, so was trying to absorb every little detail it could in one last sensory hurrah. John realised the seemingly solid design was actually made up of thousands of tiny dots. With a mouth gone dry John forced himself to reply around the bile trying to rise up his throat,

“Me too Todd, me too.”

Todd hesitated, with his hand over John’s chest, John scowled, Athena shifted angrily behind the wraith.

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, John didn’t want to make things worse for the guy.

Even as his heart damn near hammered itself out of his chest, John forced himself to bite out,

“Get on with it.”

Todd took him at his word.

The hand slammed down.

The pain was worse than he remembered.

It was as indescribably awful as it had always been – the mind tended to skitter away from memories like that – the agony of having your life ripped out through your chest. Worse than electricity, worse than hot cigarettes snuffed out on skin, worse than a helo crash, worse even than the sharp agony of broken bones, going down with your flight suit doused in inflammable hydraulic fluid and flames licking up… No… _Nothing_ compared to this. Just pure torturous _suffering_ at a cellular level.

Todd stopped; John slumped forward in his bonds panting through the torment. Tremors and aftershocks shook his frame.

“Now, are you ready to obey your goddess?”

The hated piece of Ancient tech was brought closer, after checking it was inactive, John let his head collapse back down to his chest and ignored the bitch’s attempts to gain his attention. John was too busy trying to put together the shredded remnants of his psyche to pay the snake any mind.

***

“Open the airlock.”

TJ watched with heart in mouth as the nearest alliance thug moved to do just that, Dr Simm’s, lying insensate on the floor, barely seemed to register the danger. A rude blart sounded from the airlock. The alliance member turned a panicked glance Kiva’s way as she turned a questioning look at him,

“Well?”

“The… The door won’t open!”

Beside her, TJ realised the Lantean Sergeant had re-joined their little group. She hadn’t even realised he’d been gone. She risked a quick glance; Stackhouse looked grimly satisfied.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know!”

Impatiently Kiva demanded,

“Well, find out.”

TJ watched with growing disbelief as the panel next to the airlock was pried open, and the mess of circuitry was revealed. Now, Tamara was no engineer. But even she could see the gaping void in the mess of torn cabling probably wasn’t supposed to be there.

“The… The circuits are just… gone!”

Kiva glared coolly at her subordinate,

“You know the cost of failure.”

Without another word she levelled her gun and shot him. The momentum sent her stumbling back a step, but she recovered quickly.

Casually, as if she hadn’t just shot one of her own men in front of them, Kiva turned to the prisoners,

“Who sabotaged the controls?”

No one spoke up.

“If the perpetrator does not step forward, and fix what they did within the next few minutes you will _all_ be punished.”

Kiva’s men forced personnel to line up against the wall,

“No one?” she asked, “No one is willing to stand up?”

With a sly smile, one of Kiva’s seconds, a ferrety looking individual Tamara instinctively distrusted levelled his weapon. At that, the Lantean Sergeant stepped forward,

“I did it.”

“Fix it.”

Stackhouse scoffed derisively, “Of course not!”

Kiva nodded towards him, “Simeon. You know what to do.”

The skinny guy stepped forward, and with a cruel twist to his mouth said,

“With pleasure.”

“I don’t think you want to do that.”

“And why should I care what you think Tau’ri?”

Stackhouse gave her a mocking grin, as if he wasn’t facing off against a cold-blooded killer, but taking a stroll in a park, “Well… For a start I’m Top Sergeant of the Expedition. I’m one badass motherfucker… and for another, if you do, nothing will stop Ronon from ripping your head off. In the unlikely event he fails? Well, there’s a whole _galaxy_ that knows better than to cross my CO. And when _he_ finds out about this…”

Stackhouse made a lunge for Simeon. Kiva drew her gun. A loud bang reverberated throughout the storage room.

In the chaos Carter’s voice came over the intercom,

“_This is Carter to all personnel. Code Icarus. I repeat Code Icarus. This is not a drill.”_

The voice distracted Kiva long enough for Stackhouse to make a grab for her gun. There was blood floating all around them. TJ couldn’t tell who’s it was. Personnel began discreetly backing away from the viewport at the other end of the room, the stench that still wreathed the room suddenly came into horrible focus.

“Look out!” TJ shouted, Simeon was taking aim.

_“Dex, don’t make me repeat myself! Make way to the central corridor! That’s an order!”_

Somehow Stacks managed to push Kiva back towards the window. She flew across the room in the microgravity.

The room lit up violently white.

As the afterimages faded away, TJ realised Kiva had been near the viewport, her entire left side was a charred blackened mess.

Kiva’s radio started chattering,

“Kiva, we’ve just lost contact with the Ha’taks.”

Simeon was the one who responded,

“What?”

He rounded on them all, gun raised. Then smiled slowly.

Stackhouse staggered away from the other man, from his stance awkwardly clinging to the bulkhead. He was the source of the blood.

Kiva groaned and hauled herself upright. It was a slow terrible ascent; TJ didn’t know how the other woman could stand. Skin crackled and spalled as she used the bulkhead to inch into something resembling standing,

“Want me to shoot him boss?”

“No,” Kiva looked TJ’s way, and caught her gaze, “Not him.”

***

Albert eyed Teal’c, assessing the Jaffa for any signs of distress.

“You sure about this?”

Teal’c nodded,

“I am.”

“Right.”

As officer of the day, and Landry’s 2IC, Reynolds wanted to be the one to make sure Dixon was treated fairly in all this, but now he was here, facing the very real possibility the other man would be dead soon. He felt sick.

Teal’c intoned solemnly,

“Know yourself David Dixon.”

“Dave. You sure?”

“We need to work this out, these are stone killers little man, they ain’t cuddly like me.”

As she finished setting up the Liverpool Pathway style gear around Dixon, Lam pursed her lips from behind Dixon’s head and said,

“Teal’c, as soon as you think it’s done, tell me. I’ll need to treat the colonel as soon as possible, otherwise we risk brain damage, or worse.”

They got down to the unpleasant business. Teal’c nodded solemnly at her somewhat patronising attempt to insert some level of medical ethical practice to the situation, rather than reacting negatively. Albert had to give the guy kudos for that. He wasn’t sure he’d have the same patience in his shoes.

The next few hours were some of the most tense Reynolds ever lived through. And Albert had been pinned down by a sniper. Dixon was getting no water, or medical support, beyond the immediate monitoring to make sure he wouldn’t die right there on the table.

“Know yourself Colonel Dixon.”

Teal’c’s low litany was the only source of calm in the room.

Everything culminated in Lam’s strained,

“Colonel, this is getting dangerous. His blood pressure is too high, I’m worried he’s going to stroke!”

Dixon got out between pants,

“I’m no good with words, don’… don’t use em much myself but I _gotta_ do this doc.”.

Albert watched with sympathetic horror as the conditioning dragged his fellow colonel under again. They’d gone through three rounds of this already, how much more could Dixon take?

With a roar Dixon managed to tear out of the restraints, blood, and worse, running down from his wrists as he lunged for Lam. Reynolds tried to grab Dixon, his recently healed arm gave a warning twinge as he made the attempt but he grappled with the larger man. Dixon thrashed wildly, there was a sharp pain, Reynolds’ arm gave from under him. He cried out at the sudden sharp heat and lost all sense of time and place.

By the time he worked through the pain, it was too late.

Dixon jumped for Lam. SFs fired.

Dixon was dead.

Albert stared down at his vacant eyes and tried not to be sick.

Lam glared up at the observation window between her desperate attempts to treat the man lying there on the ground, beyond help. Reynolds followed her gaze and spotted General Landry looking as if he wanted to shoot something, or someone.

***

“Seriously, if any of us was going to be recognised I wouldn’t have expected it to be _you_ Captain.”

Daniel backtracked when he saw the expression on her face, “Er, no offence. It’s just the Lucian Alliance have been sticking up bounties on SG-1 for years now.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t SG-1 that came up with that cross-pollinating crop that made Kassa less addictive was it?”

“That was _you_?”

“Yes, well, no, I’m no botanist. I _was_ on the team that went out and contaminated the entire crop on one of the primary growing worlds.” Satterfield nodded at Teyla, “I think some of Atlantis’s scientists did most of the legwork on that one.”

Jackson whistled. Teyla, a woman Daniel was growing to respect more every passing moment, took up the burden of keeping the conversation flowing.

“Captain Satterfield? How did they get the drugs into the food source?”

“Didn’t you get the reports out in Pegasus Teyla? That crop contains a dangerously addictive psychoactive drug that the Lucian Alliance use to keep the populations of the Milky Way firmly under thumb.”

“Oh, yes I remember now.” Teyla looked amused, then saddened, she clarified, “Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay argued for hours about whether Kassa could be equated to a drug the… Jem’hadar… were all forcibly addicted to by their masters.”

That did it, Satterfield spiritedly started in on the discussion herself, even as James chivvied them towards the safety of the gate. Daniel distracted himself from the trudge by running over that strange musical puzzle Doctor Rush forwarded to him in his mind’s eye, trusting in the women around him to alert him if their pursuers came close.

***

Feeling more awake, if not actually refreshed, Rodney swapped over to working on the Asgard Core problem on his Expedition laptop. The familiarity of his old foe was something for his conscious mind to keep busy, whilst his subconscious chewed over the Za’tarc problem, and the scarier likelihood that all these sneaky little security issues he’d been finding all over the place far pre-dated the attack.

The security footage recovery programme grumbled on quietly to itself in the background, edging ever closer to completion. Rodney wished he were on Atlantis with Zelenka. Even with the way they were _all_ stumped by the current situation, there would be other tasks to occupy his mind as they waited for programmes to run and inspiration to strike.

Rodney poked desultorily at the metallurgical problem, the only part of the Asgard Core he’d bothered to download from Atlantis’s servers. They’d been trying to use the Asgard Core to replicate Alteran alloys that were difficult to categorise metallurgically, let alone recreate. Before the whole world turned on its head, they’d been halfway to making some sort of tangible, physical, progress. A tiny cube of the bronze coloured alloy that made up the hulls of Puddlejumpers sat proudly on the Asgard plinth in the huge, chaotic, space underneath the chair room, below the waterline.

They’d been on verge of affecting, real, actual repairs and replacements, rather than the slapdash workarounds held together with duct tape and positive thinking that the Expedition had been scarily reliant upon over the years. They’d been _this close_ to repairing the damaged hyperdrive array, out on the asteroid-pocked pier. Rodney had been hopeful their success would mean the IOA would finally capitulate and permanently assign a BC-304 to Atlantis, instead of insisting the _Daedalus_ perpetually commute between galaxies …Then all this rained down on them.

A voice broke through his reverie,

“No, that’s mistranslated – the rune there means less than not small.”

Rodney was already preparing a retaliatory volley so severe it would leave the interloper crying like a little girl, when he realised they were right. Hastily he typed in the correction, then turned to face the intruder. It was Ingram. Surprised, he blurted,

“You read Asgard?”

“Ancient Norse actually, but it’s close enough for government work.”

“Wha- why?”

McKay’s confused question was met with a wall of babbling information. Rodney quickly began to get a hint of how other people must feel around him when he went off on one of his pet subjects, only to be met with the glassy blank-eyed stare of people who hadn’t absorbed anything he’d said in the last five minutes.

“It was a great excuse to drink mead out of a horn at Formals instead of wine.” Ingram scuffed at the concrete floor with his ridiculous sneakers, “And, well I was a Tolkienite, Norse was close to Dwarven and Quenya was so… _ordinary_.”

“Yes, yes. Whatever. Shouldn’t you be working right now?”

Ingram looked sanguine, “No one seems to think my skillset is very useful at the moment.”

“Engineer right?”

Ingram nodded,

“Speciality in Materials, and Metallurgy.”

“Oh, excellent.” Rodney shoved over a micrograph of the sample of probable Puddlejumper hull metal, polished to within a micron of its life, and then etched with anything that would get a contrast on the grain structure. They’d ended up bombarding it with alpha particles. Nitric acid barely made a dent,

“See what you make of this then.”

“Oh, fascinating. Signs of deliberate structural inclusions. This is more than just work hardening I can tell. But what would they have been put there to resist?”

“Radiation in hard vacuum.”

“You mean?”

“Oh yes, we think this is what the Ancients used to make the hulls of their spaceships!”

“Wow.”

Rodney guiltily watched the software compiling the security camera footage, and the group chat where Lee, Volker, Brody and Park were all loudly (the text had devolved to caps lock…) ‘discussing’ (arguing) whether this component, or that component in the brainwashing grenade was the source of the brainwashing wave or not. If he weren’t so embarrassed about his utter lack of a clue, he’d be chastising them all for wasting precious time, people were missing, and they’d been talking in circles since _before_ he’d gone to sort out his blood sugar.

He turned and pointed out a few of the key features on the micrograph that, okay, Rodney could admit it, Zelenka had pointed out to him (What, he was an astrophysicist not a metallurgist!), earning excited coos from Ingram in the process. Rodney was just on the verge of revealing that _this _was one of the less exciting alloys they’d managed to replicate, when the computer pinged.

The neural net, that had been so useful in helping him break down the components of the Replicator Code when he’d been racing to make FRAN paid dividends again.

This time it had been set to extrapolate after-effects of the brainwashing grenade.

With a 99.99% recurring certainty, the programme seemed to believe there were none.

That was good news. Which, Rodney was well-aware, they were in short supply of these days. He grabbed his laptop and rushed to O’Neill’s office with the evidence. Behind him Ingram gawped stupidly at his hasty exit.

***

Cam poked miserably at the brace around his knee. He wanted to be out there, looking for their missing people. For _Sam_. Vala. And hell, Sheppard. Cam had been _right_ _there_ when he’d been snatched, he’d been as much use as a damned canary.

But no, thanks to his knee he was stuck on civilian duty.

Cam looked up questioningly at the SF hurriedly making way towards them.

So far the people at area 51 had given him and Sheppard a wide berth.

“Sergeant Riley?” Cam asked questioningly, spotting the nametag.

“Sir, we’ve got a problem.”

Cam hastily gestured towards his leg and the civilian he was escorting, before limping away from the elder Sheppard brother, and hissing,

“And? What is it?”

“We just got to the Wraith’s cell sir.”

With a sinking feeling Cam asked hopefully,

“What, was it squashed flat in all the fighting?”

“Nossir, when we cleared the debris. The cell was empty sir.”

“Crap.”

So much for that idea.

** **

***

Rush twiddled his thumbs uselessly as he tried to run up the clock. He hated this. Hated the abject fucking worthlessness of his actions, but as things stood, he had no fucking choice.

It had been made quite fucking clear what would happen should he dare get it into his head to disobey. Rush did not want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt under his watch. Not least because it would be wholly his fault, wholly preventable if he’d just been a good little boy and done what he was fucking well told. Ah tae hell with it. This was absolutely untenable.

He couldn’t work under these conditions, with the forehead tattooed thugs glaring at every little move he made.

Breaking into Colson Industries was pitiably easy. Nick procrastinated as long as he could, but, eventually even his nerve ran out, and he broke into the company’s network. Rush had taken a look around before informing his escort he was finished with his task. Aside from some plane schematics, he was none the wiser about what Athena could possibly want with the corporation. After a considerable delay, involving slop that couldn’t even be called gruel, the next company he was routed towards was Devlin Medical Technologies. Thankfully, their encryption wasn’t anywhere near as outdated as Colson Inc’s, so Rush was able to actually stall for time properly.

Still, least they were feeding him. It wasn’t good. The guy who’d brought in his bowl of suspiciously coloured sludge noticed Nick’s hesitation, reached a filthy paw into the glop, and eaten a handful himself to prove it wasn’t poisoned. Rush wasn’t entirely convinced it _hadn’t_ been toxic, but better he risk some sort of drug, than wither away uselessly like some effete Mills & Boon heroine who wouldn’t know how to fend for herself if the tools to do stood up in front of her and danced a little jig.

He fucking _hated_ this.

Aside from the constant presence of the glowering guards, the only human contact he had was when they dragged Vala in as proof of life. She… She didn’t look okay, Rush suspected he was far fucking from it himself, but she was whole. Vala used the brief moments of contact to try and communicate with him, thus far all Nick had established was, she was alive, and there _might _be other prisoners held here with them, just as Sheppard said. It was either that or she’d been trying to mime that she’d entered a fucking polyamorous relationship whilst he’d been locked up in here.

Nick finally realised the idiots watching him didn’t understand more than the very basics of what he was doing. Though to be fair, not that the wee fuckers deserved it, neither had most of the people at the SGC either. It allowed him to up the ante on the deliberate trail he was leaving as he tore through corporate firewalls the world over. If the fuckers wouldn’t spot it even if it sauntered straight up to them and punched them in the face, then Rush was going to take advantage of their fucking ignorance.

Nick’s trail of breadcrumbs jumped from Mersenne Primes left in the comments of the software Athena was having him crack, to full on comments in sarcastic Gaelic, cursing everyone at the SGC and their mothers. His attacks on corporate domains got sloppier. Limited only to the sites the router allowed, Nick couldn’t do anything so blatant as send an email calling for help, but he’d been forced to lower his estimates of the SGC’s security abilities twice already. He’d left some fair fucking obvious trails back to this IP, yet nothing. Rush had severely overestimated the competence of the people he’d be up against.

For all his stalling, Nick was a hair’s breadth away from cracking into Devlin Medical Technologies internal servers. He hadn’t intended to get into Colson Industries so soon either, but their network was so pitiably outdated Nick hadn’t been able to help it. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t just doomed them all, by giving Athena access to state secrets. That’d be yet another link in the ever-growing chain of them that made up his misdeeds, right up there next to not being at Gloria’s bedside at the end.

***

Aside from the hidden beatings Athena’s Jaffa took up as a form of sport, Vala’s hands had gone past cracked and dry to outright bleeding. The harsh chemicals she was forced to use to clean what looked like _decades_ worth of grime out of the Jaffa barracks with her fellow ex-host were caustic in the extreme. Still, it did mean she had the run of the area. As well as mapping the barracks for any potential way out, Vala had taken to squirreling away supplies whenever the other woman’s back was turned. As the X-files said: Trust No One.

Her respite each day was getting dragged back to the cells. Which, was pretty pathetic, but, she was Vala Mal Doran. She’d figure a way out of this.

The door hissed open. Vala was horrified when Sheppard was dragged in, looking decades older. She meant it literally, not in the metaphorical sense. The goons dumped his body in the next cell, as if he were a butchered carcass.

There was an oopf of pained breath. Vala released a breath of her own, he was alive. He looked like a corpse, but he was _alive_. That was more than she could say for Rush. It had been too long. She should probably visit him, Athena hadn’t _expressly_ forbidden her from seeing him, and Vala did more or less have the run of the barrack levels where Rush was being kept.

Ignoring her own aches and pains, Vala crouched down near the bars and started humming the lullaby that always comforted her as a child, back when her mother was around. In separate cells as they were, it was the only form of reassurance Vala could offer. She hugged herself as she examined the damage the wraith inflicted. Of course, Vala had seen the reports, but she’d never truly _understood _the horror of it. Oh, she’d thought she had, in an intellectual way, but it was another to truly comprehend it at a visceral level.

Vala was worried about how laboured Sheppard’s breathing was, but there was nothing she could do. With a groan, watery eyes met her own.

“Hi Beautiful.”

Vala’s quiet whisper was shockingly loud in the claustrophobic space.

“Hey.”

Even his voice was ruined, the high-pitched whistling croak of an old man. Vala tried not to let her dismay show, if this was the fate that awaited them, they’d never make it out of here.

“I need you…”

“Hush.”

That earnt her a glare. He weakly shoved his wrist towards her through a hole in the grill separating the cells, Vala gasped in sympathy at the bloodied flesh, the wounds were deep.

“No.” Vala heard the impatience, the stony glare he shot her made her rear back even as he shoved his wrist closer and said, “Not important. Look.”

Vala gradually realised S.O. wanted her to take the fat black bracelet from around his wrist. Hesitantly, wary of Sheppard’s injuries, Vala realised there was something tucked inside the filthy fabric. Making sure to obscure what she was doing, in case anyone was watching, Vala teased out a thin coil of what eventually turned out to be garotte wire from the blood saturated band.

At first, Vala was puzzled that it hadn’t been picked up by a search, all metal would have been detected, before she realised, it wasn’t garotte wire, but an incredibly long spool of extremely fine rope, woven into a bracelet.

“Got anywhere you can hide that?”

Vala took the rope cum bracelet, tucked it in the bundle of hair ties adorning her wrist, then replaced Sheppard’s fat black band on his wrist. Even ruined as he was, Sheppard was still trying to make plans, he asked,

“Look, can you tell me anything about what to expect? General layout? What’s liable to happen with these snakehead assholes, anything?”

“Well, this _looks_ like a Ha’tak. But the design is different from any _I’ve_ ever seen, and believe me Qetesh got around. If you know what I mean.”

S.O. wheezed out a laugh. Good, he could still find humour.

“We need to work out what that bitch is doing with Rush. And where she’s got anyone else.”

“Well Beautiful, that worm Athena is trying to shame me as an ex-host, along with another poor unfortunate by making us clean the accommodations. We’ve very nearly got the run of the place.”

“Oh, great.”

“Yes, let’s use her arrogance against her shall we?”

John grinned back tiredly, “Yes these little cleaning mice bite.”

***

Agent Bates couldn’t believe the orders coming from on high. He’d signed up as an agent of the IOA in order to still make a difference even when he could no longer be a sergeant. But this? This was monstrous. The IOA were advocating giving up on not only The _Hammond_ and the people they currently had missing on the ground, but the Expedition too. They were planning to use the chaos that only now was beginning to show the ripples, as another nail in the coffin against the fight for Pegasus. A fight Bates knew was crucial to the protection of Earth, from painful first-hand experience.

This had a nastier bent to it than Landry’s usual rivalry with the other SGC base. There was something more going on here than Sheppard’s inability to make nice with the higher-ups. Oh, don’t get him wrong, Bates had never truly seen eye to eye with the man who’d been his CO once upon a time. But differences aside, he’d been a decent commander, and he’d seen them all through a year Bates was under no illusions should have ended in their deaths. Much as he _still_ thought Sheppard was a reckless chair force kid, Eugene was self-aware enough to recognise that much of his personal stance on the man was coloured by the late Colonel Sumner’s less than impressed attitude with a perceived washout who should have been out of the Air Force, and instead been lumped on him and the expedition.

Frowning at old loyalties and this new world of espionage he was moving in, Eugene traced back the source of the illegal orders to an office in the accounting department of the IOA. Screw it, there’d been no love lost between them back in the day, but Sheppard came through for them in the end. Now it was Bates’ turn to have his back.

He ran through his options, who to forward this highly suggestive set of orders to? Someone within the SGC obviously, but no one in the IOA’s pocket, much as Bates worked for them these days. After a moment of thought he struck upon it, of course. Even now, over four years since he’d been invalided out of the service, Eugene was still in touch with her. Those sorts of bonds were closer than family.

Eugene logged into his old Expedition account and forwarded himself the information using the old Lantean encryptions. He’d do the rest from his personal computer; it was too risky to do anything else here even with the Pegasus Special protection on the data.

***

Sheppard tried to resist, but Jaffa were like Ronon on steroids. Their strength was closer to wraith than human, and _he’d_ just been fed on by a wraith to boot. He blearily lifted his head and tried to give Vala a reassuring look as he was pulled from the cells, and grinned darkly when he spotted the chemicals she’d been forced to grab hold of, to angrily scrub the grime encrusted walls. Habitually John tried to memorise the route. The new location was halfway between what he’d come to think of as _his_ cell, and the lab of Doctor Moreau Athena was running.

Oh, what a surprise, more cells.

John felt slow and heavy, he couldn’t quite work out why they’d thrown him in here.

“Excuse me? Sir? Are you alright?”

John rolled over and repressed a groan. He slurred out,

“I’ve been fed on by Todd, whaddya think?”

“Colonel Sheppard?!”

Whoever that was, they sounded pretty dismayed.

“Yeah… It’s me.”

“You. You’re so _old_.”

At that John lifted his head up and glared in the direction of the voice,

“Not my first rodeo…” He squinted, cursing the damage Wraith feeding brought with it, if this was as similar to aging as it looked, John was dreading his dotage, he could barely _see_ anything, “…Dr Palmer?”

“Yes Colonel.”

The geologist looked disturbed. _John_ was disturbed she was here at all.

“How’d they get you? Weren’t you supposed to be assigned to the beta site?”

“Yeah, well, I was at the SGC waiting for the _Hammond_ to be done with its shakedown tour.”

“Damn.” John got out feelingly. That bit.

“I’ll say Sheppard.”

“Spencer? That you?”

John hated how weak his voice sounded.

“You know I thought you were a cold bastard when you wouldn’t save Uncle Joe. But… She was never going to let him go, was she?”

John sighed, “No… No, she wasn’t.”

“How’d she do it?” John guessed ‘it’ referred to his sudden onset old age, he was saved from having to answer by another question, “Why’d she put you in here anyway?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say demoralise you all. Make you think twice about escape.”

“Never fear Colonel! I’ll get us out!!”

“Felger?!”

John winced. He’d recognise that strident voice anywhere. (Why Felger of all people?) He chewed his lip worrying about how many of their people had gotten caught up in this. Damn. They’d really gotten hold of a _lot_ of their guys. First Doc Lindsay’s group, now this lot.

“Colonel… Sheppard?”

That was a new voice. Someone he didn’t know. But sorta familiar.

John cautiously asked,

“Yes?”

“You doing okay?”

John tiredly bit out,

“I’ve been fed on by a wraith, so no, it’s not my best day.” He regretted his snappy tone immediately, “Sorry. Like I said, not at my best.”

Heaving himself up, John managed to get upright, and started doing his damned job,

“Alright people. Roll call. Who’s here?”

Predictably Felger was first,

“Dr Felger sir!!”

“Palmer here. But you knew that already.”

“Dr Franklin.”

John was startled into chattiness,

“Oh! Famous botany guy! Parrish was talking about how you revolutionised the classification of non-terrestrial genus. He was really impressed you know. He wanted you for Lantis.”

Silence loomed.

“What? Oh, come on, you try not to get distracted when you’ve been through this crap so often.”

John was saved from further attempts to justify himself by the mouthy Sergeant speaking up,

“Sergeant Spencer.”

There was still a worrying simmer of anger in the guy’s voice, but then John really couldn’t blame the guy. John let his Uncle die. That familiarly unfamiliar voice spoke up again,

“Um, Jake O’Neill.”

“No one else in here I should know about?”

“There were people in other cell blocks Colonel. I saw them before they split us all up. I think we passed two other groups?”

That was Palmer again, she was surprisingly good at this.

“Damn.” John groaned, “That complicates things.”

“No one else in here but us.”

“Okay good. Now, no offense guys but I’m gonna need you to prove that you are who you say you are before we start trying to make plans or anything.”

“Make plans?! You look about ninety!”

“Gee thanks Franklin, I hadn’t noticed. Okay, even though I _know_ you’re you – any way you can prove it?”

The next few minutes were spent negotiating how to prove no one was a plant. Palmer recognised and vouched for Franklin. Franklin disgruntledly admitted that he knew who Spencer was. _Everyone_ knew Felger. And all the SGC personnel knew about the fifth time that Cam Mitchell lost his pants, and just what Vala had been doing with a tub of frosting and a chicken that day.

A snort from the one voice John hadn’t readily identified,

“O’Neill was it? Any relation? And any way to prove you’re you?”

“Well… Considering the damned Asgard cloned me, not really.”

“That leaves us in a bit of a pickle then, doesn’t it?”

“Well, no offense Sheppard I don’t know you from Adam. How am I supposed to know you are Colonel Sheppard and not some old creep pretending to be him?!”

Palmer snidely interrupted, saving John from having to respond,

“Haven’t you seen the training video? He looks just like he did last time.”

The voice sounded gratifyingly horrified,

“Wait this has happened _before_? And there’s _video_?”

“Like I said. Not my first rodeo.” 

“But a _video_?!”

“Hey, it wasn’t _my_ idea. Nothing I could do, the brass were all for it.”

“Oh for crying out loud! I’m gonna have to have a word with someone if I ever get out of here. That just isn’t right.”

Sheppard decided to take a chance. Odds were he wouldn’t get another opportunity anyway, Athena just hadn’t been able to resist this new psychologically sadistic attempt to wear everyone down with what she’d done to him. Hopefully, that would prove to be her downfall.

“Hey, O’Neill, can you reach through the bars?”

“Yes?”

“Can you reach my belt?”

“Why’d I want to do that? You turning into some sort of perv in your artificial old age?”

John forced himself not to bite back, he was barely getting any air into his lungs as it was,

“_No_. There’s a ceramic knife built into the buckle.”

“Oh.”

O’Neill 2.0 squeezed his arm through the gold grill and slipped the knife out of its sheath.

“Huh, nifty.”

“Yeah, now, give it to Palmer. She knows how to palm stuff.”

“Hey!”

“What?” John realised what he’d just said, “Oh not like _that_, I _know_ Ronon taught you a few of his tricks last time we were on base.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, he wanted to learn how to set snares American style, figured it was a fair trade to learn the Pegasus way.”

“Yeah…” John tried to get comfortable, and gave it up as a bad job, “So, here’s what we’re going to do…”

With a few surprisingly astute interruptions from Palmer, and some less surprising contributions from O’Neill 2.0 and Spencer, they had themselves the beginnings of a plan. John only hoped he’d live long enough to execute it. Between Vala’s access to noxious chemicals, and the tricks he’d smuggled to the others, John figured they might just get out of this.

At one point during the discussion Franklin blew up at him again,

“For pete’s sake man! Okay, ignoring the fact that you can’t currently _do_ anything. Don’t you give a damn about your own welfare?”

John immediately rejoindered, “I’m military, that little luxury waved bye bye a long time ago. It’s _my_ job to keep _you_ guys safe.”

He’d probably imagined the weird look on O’Neill 2.0’s face at that one. But decided to ignore it in favour of continuing the planning. In the end the only thing they settled on, was that the signal to create hell was probably going to be a fire.

***

Rush planted the latest trail of breadcrumbs leading back to this IP address. Thus far no one had the fucking intelligence to trace his, frankly amateurish, break-ins. Surely someone would be able to locate him at some point? It was ridicu-_fucking_-lous; he’d been leaving metaphorical neon flashing signs all over the place, and still no one cottoned on. Nick was losing what little faith he’d had left in the authorities the longer this dragged on. 

Rush watched with disgust as the Jaffa set to guard him wandered off, scratching at his rear end as he did so. In better circumstances he’d use the opportunity to stage an escape attempt, get a message out or _something_. As it was, Rush’s crippled computer was still slaved to the other desktop, and, whilst clearly lacking in personal hygiene, his guard _had_ possessed the foresight to lock Nick out of everything before he’d left. P=NP or not, it would take a considerable length of time to break into the other desktop. Not least because the other computer’s system was in Goa’uld, a language Nick wasn’t exactly fluent in. He hadn’t a clue how to get to the computer’s root directory, or find the command line with its utterly foreign OS. Nick sighed to himself,

“My life has become a single, ongoing revelation that I haven't been cynical enough.”

Vala rushed in, all nervous energy and suspicious glances. Given that, from what Rush heard she was an experienced con-woman, such overtly nervy behaviour from her was alarming to say the least.

“Here, take this Gorgeous.”

“What?”

“Take it!” She hissed at him, a coil of thin black rope was shoved into his unresisting hands. “Sheppard got it out of there, so I’m giving it to you.”

“And what tae fuck do you expect _me_ to do with it?”

“Hide it!”

“Where? For what purpose?”

“We’re going to break out, I promise you. Sheppard is working on getting all the groups of us together.”

“Groups?”

“Yes, Athena has more than one set of prisoners here.”

“_Shite_. He was right then? Am I to take it Sheppard could have gotten out but chose not to??”

“No, he’s not _entirely_ stupid. He’s as trapped as we are. But he’s very much focusing his efforts on working out where the others are, rather than _how_ to get out.”

Rush’s grimace probably said it all, Vala responded,

“I _know_. We’ve been trying to work out where they are, and how to get control of this Ha’tak. I’m hiding the cleaning chemicals. We’re going to find a way out.”

Rush attempted to parse that mess, he swallowed when he spotted Vala’s damaged hands. Quietly Nick heard himself ask,

“What makes ye so sure it is a Ha’tak?”

Vala gave an exaggerated look around, “The architecture? Classic Goa’uld pyramid.”

Still feeling detached he asked,

“Hadn’t you noticed hen? No engine noises. No hum, no vibrations, _nothing_.”

Vala cocked her head, listening, then looked thoroughly alarmed. Rush was glad she agreed with his assessment, but she seemed none-the-fucking-wiser about what they’d do now either. The moment broke. Hurriedly, Nick stuffed the rope into the cuff of his filthy sleeve,

“Aright, I’ll hide this. But we need more than ye hiding some cleaning supplies! For fuck’s sake! We had more to work with when we were just trying to embarrass Kavanagh.”

“I know. But, come on Gorgeous, you did that with such _style_. Surely you can work wonders with bleach.”

“Well, yes. Chlorine gas for one. But that isn’t the fucking point and you know it!”

Vala leaned right into his personal space, Nick caught a whiff of bleach and sweat as she vehemently bit out,

“Look, I’ve been getting this stuff out for days now, at great personal risk too. I know how to cook up a thing or three, but Nick come on. We can’t let all this be for nothing.”

“Oh fine. For fuck’s sake! I’ll help, of course I will, did you think I wouldn’t?” He asked hurt, “I wannae get out of here as much as you do ye daft cow!”

Rush reconsidered, and slipped the black bracelet onto his arm, next to his watch. He muttered darkly,

“I’m already doing my bit you know.”

“Oh I’d worked it out.”

There was no questioning in her voice, no hesitation, just confidence that Nick was pulling his weight. Vala squeezed his hand apologetically. Nick swallowed thickly and tried to shoo the exasperating woman out of the door,

“Get out of here, I don’t know how long it’ll be before Tweedlecunt gets back, and it’ll be the worse for both of us if he catches you.”

They exchanged a look as Vala hurried away, Rush wasn’t sure what was on his face, but he suspected it mirrored hers. Vala’s expression was filled with determination, and no little amount of fear as the slipped out.

***

Sam fired the sublights on fullburn, away from the deadly solar system she’d deliberately allowed the _Hammond_ to drift into. The _Hammond_ reached the relative safety of the outskirts just in time; a second blast of deadly radiation whited out the sensors momentarily, just as the ship made it to the void between star systems.

Sam hurriedly rechecked the crew’s status on the line to the security station they’d jury-rigged. They had to do this in one-shot. Miss any stragglers, and this gambit would all be for nothing. Carter focused through the haze, everywhere on the ship the situation was the same. The emergency lighting was dim through the smoke that was getting everywhere. The air thick with the smell of burnt wiring, even now back in the system where they’d been ambushed, far from the outer hull and the damage the pulsar wreaked on the _Hammond’s_ systems.

Sam pinpointed the location of the last of the Alliance invaders with a grim sense of satisfaction. With a final desperate string of code, the plan was a go. Sam nodded at Novak, who ran her own eye over Sam’s section of the code and said,

“It’s ready.”

There were no hiccups in evidence Sam distractedly realised.

Did she have the right? She flicked the security console back to the rooms the Alliance held, assessing the tactical situation. Well, those of them Sam could see. There was nothing but dead cameras on much of the rear aft side of the ship. Carter swallowed back nausea, unwilling to think too deeply about precisely what that meant.

Kiva and her people still held a sizeable percentage of her crew hostage in the port side storage bay. Kiva herself was being operated on by Johansen the green medic. Ironically, the woman’s previous brutality towards Doctor Simms meant she’d get no first-class treatment. Kiva’s first was down for the count. This was probably the best shot they were going to get. But the damnable woman had more than enough seconds to remain a threat. The big bald guy Ronon had run all over the ship was among those unaccounted for, and too many Lucian Alliance members had proven willing to kill at any sign of resistance. Ronon… Sam didn’t know what his fate was. Nothing was working in those compartments.

Sam ran a quick eye over Novak’s last-minute additions to the code. This would take care of their little hacker too. Novak had doggedly tacked on commands to run Sam’s code on select cabins around the ship. Where the Alliance presence was strongest. With the other woman’s competent assistance, Sam’s Plan A had gone from a desperate gambit to save a third of her crew, to a viable method of rousting their invaders.

With a heavy heart, Carter pressed enter on the nasty piece of code she and Lindsay had written. With detached interest she realised the hacker must have understood what they were planning, new code was being thrown up in a desperate attempt to stop their programme running. The speed of the hacker’s coding decreased, even as Sam hastily threw up her own blocks. Then ceased altogether. The hacker must have stopped coding and started trying to affect the room itself. Sam snorted, good luck with that. They’d deliberately obscured the life-support systems after that run in with Vala all those years ago.

With her heart in her throat Carter turned to watch the feed from the storage bay, as they stopped pumping oxygen into the room, and started pumping in waste C02 and nitrogen instead.

Novak’s vocalised countdown mirrored her own dreadful count, 20 seconds.

On the screen the people inside began to realise what was going on, weaselly and in charge spun as if to start shooting. Sam watched, horrified as one of her airmen rushed him from behind. 40 seconds. They both wrestled for the gun. Their movements growing more sluggish by the moment.

60 seconds.

One of the larger Lucian Alliance members started hammering at the door. Carter frowned concerned as he shot at the panelling with his zat, blue bolts of electricity running up the bulkhead.

Airmen, officers, the _Hammond’s_ crew, and Alliance members alike collapsed and were still. They hung obscenely in the microgravity. Looking eerily like the corpse in the Airlock.

Two minutes.

“That’s it. Pump the 02 back in.”

Novak nodded, her lips a tight line,

“Yes ma’am.”

“Let’s send what remains of our security forces down there.”

***

Jake didn’t know what to make of Sheppard. He’d never heard of the guy before, let alone met him, but the SGC people seemed familiar with him. There was some respect there too, not just for the rank, but for the man. Felger seemed to have a new focus for his ridiculous hero-worship, Jake didn’t envy the poor bastard.

Their tentative planning, which mostly involved waiting for the guards to be distracted whilst opening all their cell doors at once (aka never gonna happen) was interrupted some time in by Athena herself.

The snakehead snapped her fingers imperiously once the large bulkhead to their block finished noisily creaking open.

“Jaffa, fetch two of the ATA carriers. Bring them to my lab.”

“Which ones my goddess?”

“The Colonel and the mouthy child. Let the others consider their …options.”

“Hey!”

Jake earnt himself a backhand at that exclamation. He had a feeling Sheppard would have been sarcastically making quips for all he was worth too, but the guy looked mostly dead. Whatever wraith feeding was, it was worse than old-age despite what the science geeks kept insisting.

The guy had been through it before. And they’d made it into a _training_ _video_.

Jake felt sick.

He’d never force any man of his to put up with that sort of crap.

Just what the hell was going on at the SGC these days?

Jake made his usual attempt to delay matters, he grumbled, kicked at ankles, tried to cling onto the doorframe outside Frankenstein’s lab… But to no avail. He was glad he hadn’t pre-emptively played his hand with the knife. That was safely jammed into the cell, where Palmer had a halfway decent shot at using it.

There was a new occupant in the containment cell in the lab. Seven feet tall. Green skin. White hair. Face tattoos. Lots of black leather. It was like the aliens had been watching Kiss music videos or something. O’Neill tried not to stare but from the amused grin, revealing rows of black pointy teeth, the alien shot him, he’d been noticed.

“What the _hell_ is that?”

Athena looked haughty and smug. Goa’uld. They were all alike. Megalomaniacal nuisances the lot of them. Sheppard was the one who answered, in a raspy voice and sounding like he was introducing two acquaintances rather than an alien shark,

“That’s Todd.”

Jake eyed up the seven feet of green skin in disbelief,

“…_Todd_.”

“Yep.”

Even decrepit as he was, Sheppard still popped the goddamned p. Jake had to respect that level of commitment to being an absolute _ass_. That hadn’t even been an _attempt_ at an explanation.

In a deep rumbly voice… _Todd_ rasped out,

“_Shep_paaard…”

It took a moment for Jake to realise the name was a greeting not a threat when the guy tilted his head at the alien almost friendly like. Eesh. What the hell kind of idiot had the SGC gotten it into their heads to employ?

“Now. Tau’ri. Activate the device in front of you.”

While Jake had been ruminating on life the universe and everything, they’d both been strung up on those ridiculous frames Goa’uld seemed to favour. He’d barely noticed. This shit was all old hat by now. The green guy was the most interesting thing to happen in weeks.

If it had been weeks.

It was hard to tell what the time was when there was no day or night. And food was as irregular as it had been.

“Yeah… I’m gonna have to say no.”

Jake had to give Sheppard that much, he knew how to turn on infuriating. If one of _his_ men addressed him with that much ‘yes sir, fuck you sir’ in his voice he’d have been hard pressed not to hit the guy. The fact that he looked like he was pushing ninety and was still all out with the attitude was kinda impressive. Even talking sounded like it hurt.

Athena went straight for the jabbing with her pain stick. Jake was getting pretty worried about the other guy’s survival chances here. Though, give the guy his due, as soon as Athena stopped with the red lightning, Sheppard was glaring fiercely up at her.

If looks could kill, the Goa’uld would be so much ash.

Ignoring the murderous atmosphere emanating from her other prisoner, Athena sauntered to Jake’s spot on the wall. Jake only gave her half his attention, too busy trying to work out if Sheppard was going to croak it any time soon to give her more. With no little relief Jake realised, what he’d taken for a spasm, was Shep repeatedly signing over and over 5 by 5. He was trying to tell Jake he was alright. Now, Jake could see that for the blatant lie it was, but it was a weight off.

Jake watched Sheppard’s fingers with a beady eye, if he was reading the arthritic signs correctly, he was asking Jake to delay at much as possible. From their earlier discussion O’Neill knew there were at least two other groups of prisoners somewhere – making up at least thirty people all told. Crap. This was a shitshow and a half, just what the hell kind of ship was his originator running these days?

“Of course you’re idiotic enough to refuse. Hok’tar my _ass_.” Athena leered, “And you O’Neill? Will you capitulate now you see how pointless refusal is?”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

Sheppard met his eyes and gave a very slight nod.

“I… see.”

Athena looked displeased, the mutant pain stick came out,

“Very well. I’ve been curious to see how Tau’ri physiology would be affected by the feeding process anyway.”

Instead of zapping O’Neill like he’d expected, Athena turned, and the stick descended on Sheppard. Red electricity and his cries echoed through the lab. Jake had just enough time to feel pity before she turned and used it on him. They were both left panting for air in their bonds, O’Neill wondered how much more the other guy could take.

He caught tall green and ugly’s gaze as they both worriedly looked the Colonel’s way. Huh. United in concern? That was a shocker.

Green guy spoke up,

"If you keep doing that, he won’t live long enough to turn anything on for you.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, _Wraith_.”

_Oh_.

_This_ was how Sheppard had apparently gone from taking names and kicking ass to pushing senility.

Green guy sighed,

“This is foolish. Sheppard is stubborn. You’re going to kill him before he does what you want.”

Athena smiled, somehow her row of perfectly even teeth was scarier than the alien’s maw of pointed fangs,

“Oh… I don’t think that will be an issue.”

Jake gulped, he didn’t like where this was going at all. Sheppard was dragged from the room; clearly still reeling from the effects of the stick and didn’t put up a fight. Crap.

***

John had intended to use their shared interrogation time more productively than this. Of course, that all flew out of the window as soon as Athena revealed her plans. Groggily he tried to work out where Athena’s brute squad was taking him, but between the feeding and the torture, it was all John could do to keep track of the turns,

“Let’s try the sarcophagus, shall we?”

Sheppard was bodily lifted into the massive tacky gold coffin, even with his rheumy eyes, John could tell he did not want to go into that box. He struggled, but he’d been drained, endured the stick, and was being, well, Jaffa-handled by six burly guards… He stood no chance, he squirmed like a little worm on a big hook.

He was unceremoniously dropped into the coffin like chamber. Just as John got his bearings together to try and bolt for it, the lid clanged shut over his head with finality. Blinding light surrounded him.

***

With the Atlantis situation on hold, in the face of the current emergency, Strom put Camile on accounts duty. It was even more of a deliberate insult than her previous position as glorified records clerk. At least that had been _tangential_ to her qualifications. This? Camile wasn’t an accountant, this role was more than just insulting, Strom _wanted_ her to fail.

Strom placed someone else up for a promotion ahead of her, _again_. It was the third time. Always someone less qualified, subordinate, once someone _she’d_ _trained_. It wasn’t because she was a woman. Or rather it wasn’t _just_ because she was a woman. Camile saw the disgust. The senior IOA member could barely stand to be in the same room as her. She had no idea how he’d managed to get his position; such blatant prejudice had no place in an organisation that regularly dealt with peoples so utterly foreign that frequently concepts of morality barely met. Consistent beliefs about killing and the evils thereof were disparate enough on _Earth_, let alone out in the great vastness of the galaxy.

Camile sighed, it was what it was. She refused to change who she was, who she loved, for her career. Unlike the military, Camile had a choice, she’d _always_ had a choice. She’d chosen the woman she loved.

In his bigoty Carl Strom hadn’t _accounted _for one thing. Sharon; who was read into the programme, thank her ancestors, _did _have accountancy training. So long as Camile stuck to generalisations and didn’t let Sharon know that half these numbers were funding research into Asgard tech and kept her well away from the numbers above her clearance, it would be perfectly acceptable to ask for help. If it came to it. For now, Camile would content herself with relying on Sharon’s old textbooks and asking her partner for help with getting used to the software.

Hell, it was something to do, a way to prevent the monotony of overseeing Area 51’s accounts from making her brains run out of her ears. The Atlantis debate was on hold for the foreseeable future, given that several of the key players were either missing or dead.

Sharon walked over, a very full glass of white wine in hand, and slid in on the couch.

“You know we should really get rid of that ugly chair.”

“Huh.”

Camile snorted her disbelief that Sharon was acting as if _she_ was the hold-up. The glass was thrust under her nose,

“Here, it’s for you.”

Camile reached for it with a grateful, “Thanks.”

Camile leaned into Sharon’s warmth, Sharon seriously asked, “So what’s going on?”

Camile looked over at her partner questioningly, Sharon started massaging her neck, Camile reflexively pushed back into the firm touch, groaning as the knots unwound themselves. Between groans she got out, “Trouble at work, you _know_ I can’t give you specifics. Not yet anyway.”

Sharon sighed, “I know, but I can ask.”

Sharon continued her ministrations, before moving into the kitchen. The other woman pulled an amused face at the speed with which Camile had gotten through her glass. She held up the bottle and wriggled it teasingly, “More wine?”

“God yes! Make it red this time?”

Sharon smiled and poured out a generous glass of red, bringing it over.

“Well, come to bed before it gets too late.”

Sharon wriggled her eyebrows suggestively, a mischievous smile lit up her face. Camile gave into the urge to peck her on the cheek fondly,

“…Yes dear.”

Sharon giggled and sauntered upstairs. Camile sighed and stared at the headache in front of her, resignedly she called out,

“Sorry, on second thought, don’t wait up. I’ve got something here.”

Sharon pulled a face at her from over the banister, Camile didn’t see, she’d already gotten back to the paperwork. She took a large gulp of the red, barely tasting it as she stared down at the figures in front of her.

She squinted as the figures swam in front of her eyes, there was something wrong. Camile was sure the answer was staring her in the face. There was a pattern there. She hadn’t quite parsed what it was, but she was determined to find it. At least, once she worked out what _it_ was.

She felt as if she had the edges of something.

An outline.

A silhouette of an idea that was so big, so appalling, her brain refused to accept it.

Now if only she could work out what the hell it was.

Too much money was being funnelled out into Area 51. Even with the huge costs of developing the new Asgard Core enhanced second gen BC-305s and F-306s the numbers were staggering. Conversely, Atlantis and the SGC hadn’t been getting their fair share of investment for years, if ever. Camile didn’t even want to get into the way the figures for the Ninth Chevron Project made no sense at all. Whilst Camile’s speciality was HR, she’d hung around Sharon long enough to recognise the signs of accountancy gone deliberately wrong when she saw it, and _everything_ about this was ringing alarm bells. The numbers were large enough to bankrupt a country, which was probably how all these little discrepancies had slipped past everyone’s notice so long.

Camile’s expertise in human resources was the first thing to clue her in, even with the Expedition’s infamous tendency to the two extremes of either keeping their people forever, or losing them back to Earth within their first three months… There was just… The figures didn’t add up. The SGC and IOA simply weren’t sending them enough personnel for a frontline base of that size. The Gamma Site got more people for goodness’ sake, and that site was a top-secret emergencies only last resort. It was an evacuation site, routinely run with little more than a skeleton crew.

Similarly, there was something _very_ wrong with the list of people getting assigned to the Ninth Chevron Project. Too many mediocre candidates who were all perfectly competent, and passed the necessary security checks… But not much more. Dr Caine was a middling IT tech at best, Dr Franklin a botanist who’d be better off working for a run-of-the-mill botanical garden perhaps, but not someone she’d think capable of heading an international expedition, for all his apparent genius in cancer research. That was ignoring Dr Palmer the geologist with an attitude problem, and the _madness_ of reactivating Sgt Spencer.

Camile knew it was a risk, but she didn’t have anyone else she could trust.

Sharon was just settling into their shared bed when Camile came into the bedroom, she smiled lasciviously, and turned the sheets down invitingly,

“Change your mind?”

Something must have shown on Camile’s face, Sharon sat up,

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to come and look at something. It’s important.”

The seriousness in Camile’s tone had Sharon nodding immediately, “Let me put on my robe, I’ll be right down.”

***

Athena watched, pleased at the progress they were making. With Ba’al in charge the Trust never lived up to its full potential. Now she had ATA carriers aplenty to work on, and only had to hide in the dark like a scared Tok’ra rat when she felt the occasional need to experience some of the luxuries the Tau’ri developed for themselves during their millennia in exile.

The sarcophagus opened; Athena signalled her servants to grab the prisoner.

Sheppard was dragged from the healing device, blinking dazedly, yet already snarling aggressively at the guards lifting him upright.

Interesting.

The sarcophagus _did _tend to heighten aggressive responses it was true, but Athena had never seen it take hold quite this quickly.

The restored to youth Colonel was irrationally trying to bite the guards hauling him over to the wall where he was restrained. Even as they forcibly pushed him down to the surface, which immediately reached out to clutch him, he tried to headbutt the slave. Sheppard pushed his head into the jaw of the man holding onto his upper arms, earning a pained shout. Athena supposed he’d been trying to drive the Jaffa’s nose into his brain. The Jaffa in question seemed to delight in twisting Sheppard’s arm nearly to breaking point in retaliation.

“Ready to activate this device for me Tau’ri slave?”

Athena did so appreciate the opportunity to exert her godhood, after so many years making good on Earth with inferior beings far beneath her notice, it was almost a relief to let out her not-so-inner bitch. Ba’al’s schemes were never worth the subterfuge anyway, she should have seen that the fool wasn’t worth following from the beginning. Athena turned and stared expectantly at the mysterious piece of technology.

The ancient device remained stubbornly dead. Sheppard was practically _growling_ under his breath at her, alarmingly feral. Athena sighed, and snapped her fingers at her servants to signal he should be punished. She took the opportunity to closely examine the sarcophagus’s handiwork, he wasn’t as young as he had been before the Wraith had fed. However, it was good news, the sarcophagi _could_ mitigate the threat of the wraith if they ever did make it to Atlantis to raid the Alteran galaxy.

Her Jaffa jabbed the pain stick into Sheppard’s side. He did scream so prettily.

***

Teal’c stared down the Lucian Alliance member sat opposite him in the interrogation room. The man was sweating. Teal’c raised an eyebrow, affecting an indifferent expression. His disgust must have shown, since the individual in the service of the Alliance cowards tried to lean away from him, despite being cuffed to the metal chair.

“I had not believed that I would see such dishonourable tactics used again once the System Lords fell.” Teal’c allowed distaste to colour his tone, “Clearly I was incorrect. Humans _will_ stoop to the level of the Goa’uld.”

“Your – your point?”

The man opposite him tried for bravado. Teal’c was unmoved.

“Since _you_ have stooped to the level of the False Gods, then so shall I.”

“Yeah right. I know all about the _honour _of the Tau’ri you’ve chained yourself to Teal’c of Chulak.” The man spat, “Shol’va!”

Teal’c leaned forward, putting his arms on the table, boxing the man in against the hard metal chair,

“You forget. For many decades I was First Prime to Apophis.”

Teal’c allowed a familiar cold smile to cross his face,

“For many years I hunted humans for sport in service of a False God whom I _knew_ to be False.”

The man went white. The blood didn’t so much drain from his face, as try to flee Teal’c’s presence.

An hour later, the information the Alliance member was babbling out as quickly as his mouth would allow him to communicate it, began to cycle around. It seemed he’d shared everything he knew.

“Thank you, Etan of the Sixth House. I shall send in a Tau’ri interrogator to verify the information you have given me. You _will_ be cooperative.”

“Yes, yes! I told you, most of us didn’t have a choice! The Alliance come to your world, you cooperate, or they kill your family. Your _whole_ family. Forget parents, wave your cousins goodbye! They _know_ man, they always _know_.”

“Indeed. The tactics of cowards. I shall see to it that you are treated fairly should your information prove to be true.”

“It is! I swear!”

Teal’c left Etan alone in the room and went straight to O’Neill’s temporary office.

“O’Neill.”

“Teal’c, find anything out?”

“Indeed O’Neill, he was most cooperative.”

“That’s good.”

“He was very low in the hierarchy; however, he’d heard rumours of another attack.”

O’Neill practically sagged in his chair. Teal’c sympathised.

***

Sheppard saw everything through a haze of red.

Part of him was alarmed by the sheer _rage_ he felt, the rest was busily trying to violently attack the monsters that had taken him.

Todd came in, the traitorous Wraith _bastard_! He snapped around to face him, or tried to, hindered by whatever was pinning him to the wall. Not-O’Neill was there too. The useless lump. Some help _he_ was.

Shep made his point by snarling and snapping at him instead.

“John Sheppard.”

Through the fury a part of John noted that Todd sounded almost… regretful. Which couldn’t possibly be true, Todd was a lying Wraith bastard! And! He was a Wraith!

Athena the _hag _sauntered up behind Todd, slinkily moving her attractive body, which wasn’t even hers the snakey _slut_, it felt like a good idea to tell her so,

“Snake! That body isn’t even yours!”

Todd looked alarmed. Good he should be. Sheppard was going to bite his nose off! See how he liked being at the bottom of the food chain for a change! He snapped at Todd when he moved closer, but the bonds held him fast.

“Do it Wraith.”

With a sigh, why was Todd sighing? He _liked _eating. Sheppard growled distracted by that thought, Todd’s hand slammed down onto his chest, the agony began anew.

***

Carter stared down at the grinning form of Ronon in the infirmary bed. The Satedan Specialist looked crispy fried, if, no, _when_ they got back to Earth, Sheppard was going to kill her.

From the front Ronon looked as if he had bad sunburn, his skin flushed pink, and already peeling in places. Only the state of his mane of hair put paid to that lie. Half of Ronon’s dreadlocks were missing, the stench of burnt hair surrounded him in an unpleasant miasma. The young blonde medic Johansen firmly pushed Ronon back down onto the gurney and continued to smear burn gel on his wounds. He subsided with a grunt,

“Ronon, I’m sorry. I should have realised that you wouldn’t know what Code Icarus was.”

“Not your fault. Shoulda read the briefing notes.”

“Well, yes.” Carter couldn’t argue his logic there, “But as the Captain of this ship, and having been your CO for a year, I _know_ you’re not wholly confident with written English. I should have taken the time to make sure you were aware of why it was important.”

Ronon squirmed, embarrassed,

“Look it’s my fault. I _can_ read your English. Just, it’s difficult. Your alphabet is nothing like Satedan, or Genii, or even the Trading language. The letters look all wrong. They’re too small, and round. There’s too few of em, and the rules don’t make any damned sense!”

“I know. I’m sorry. You act so much like one of the marines, sometimes I forget.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Johansen quietly added,

“I didn’t know what half the codes meant, and I’d _read_ the briefing notes.”

Carter let her gaze pointedly leave Ronon’s face and rove along his back. The Satedan was lying on his front on the infirmary bed, his back covered in sodden burn dressings.

He’d only received a split second of indirect _doubly attenuated _radiation from the bulkhead window. Ronon got through the doorway to the inner cabins in the nick of time. A beam of pulsar radiation had cut a glancing blow across his shoulder blades – frying off most of his dreadlocks as it went. From what Doctor Brightman said, he had two matching third degree burns on each shoulder-blade, and a huge patch of second and first degree burning across much of his upper back.

And _that_ had been from barely getting in the way of the very outer edge of a beam of pulsar radiation attenuated through two, _inches thick_, transparent trinium viewports… Carter shuddered to think how close a shave it had been. From the security footage of the outermost cabins on that side of the ship before the desperate pulsar plan had been carried out - several dozen of the greasy smears that littered those rooms were actually Lucian Alliance members.

Ronon must have mistaken Sam’s horror for something else,

“Don’t worry about it Carter. Been meaning to trim my dreads for a while. They were getting heavy, and I’d stopped mourning my grandfather years ago.”

Carter eyed the crispy black mess that _had_ been Ronon’s hair. It had saved his life.

The charred corpses zipped into body bags still coming into the 302-bay (for lack of anywhere better to put them) spoke of the fate Sam had condemned a lot of people to today.

“Hey.” Ronon caught her attention, “You did what you had to do.”

Sam nodded tersely. She knew she had.

“I mean it, they weren’t gonna stop. Wouldn’t have negotiated. It was us or them.”

Ronon pointedly looked over at the injured crewmen in the other corner of the ship’s infirmary, the room was crowded. A lot of walking wounded had come out of the standoff in the storage bay. Stackhouse was still under the knife in the operating room.

“Yeah, I know Ronon.”

Carter’s plan had been a success. Only, hah! ‘_Only’_ one crewmember had gotten caught up in the deadly pulsar wave she’d driven them into. They’d been unable to get away from the outer hull in time. All the other casualties of that celestial body were their invaders.

Plan A had worked too. The calculated risk paid off spectacularly. The Hammond’s SFs were rounding up their attackers at their leisure, those not yet in the brig were all safely contained in the cabins they’d been in when Sam played with life support.

Besides, Sam eyed up the walking wounded again, she couldn’t quite find it within herself to feel guilt. Not after what had happened to Airman Dunning in the airlock. Or the way it was looking likely Simms would never be a surgeon again, not with those hands. Stacks saved a lot of lives with that little standoff, and he was paying for it even now.

If Stacks hadn’t done the deed for her, Sam might have broken the Geneva Convention and shot Kiva herself. As it stood, the woman was a half-charred corpse in a body bag somewhere.

***

“Undo it Wraith”

“Why do you persist with this?” Todd asked, “There is no point. Sheppard is stubborn, he won’t do as you ask.”

With a nod to her Jaffa, Athena gave the okay to start ‘persuading’ him. Grinning nastily, they advanced on Todd’s unresisting form. He’d learnt the hard way with the Genii, in a situation such as this, it was worse to fight back. Especially since his feeding hand was encased in the hated Goa’uld contraption that even now dug painfully into the enzyme sac, milking him as if he were a herd animal.

From his position on the floor, looking through legs that were kicking every bit of skin the drones could reach, Todd turned to face Sheppard, and met his gaze. Steadily trying to get through to the Lantean, even as the hated pain stick contacted his flesh and momentarily whited out all thought.

Sheppard weakly turned his eyes to face him, and croaked out,

“Yeah. Do what… You want… Bitch.”

Athena added her own demands,

“Undo it Wraith.”

Todd resisted the urge to sigh, and tried to sound reasonable even as he lied,

“I need to feed more before I can. Your drones did too much damage.”

“Fine. Eat them.” Athena gestured carelessly to one of the humans, “The ATA expression is pitifully low. It’s a wonder the SGC even registered it.”

Todd didn’t need to be told twice, ignoring the young woman’s vehement struggles, he drained the human she gestured to completely and turned back to Sheppard’s aged visage.

Todd, or rather, Guide, leaned over his brother and pushed life force back into his ailing body. Todd could taste the wrongness of the enzyme flowing through Sheppard’s blood after multiple feedings, and the further imbalance wrought by the sarcophagus. In truth Todd could easily have merely reversed the feeding, but he had a feeling that if he wanted to get out of this, he’d need Sheppard’s help – and health.

Subtly he pushed back more life force than he’d taken, taking care not to go overboard and affect tissues in the visible places overly. Todd returned the stubborn Lantean’s life force, and then some, to internal organs, joints, and muscles. He could undo what he had fashioned and strengthen his sometime ally in preparation. The sarcophagus had wreaked all sorts of havoc on the Lantean’s system. Even freshly fed, Todd realised he barely had enough energy to spare to undo all the strange imbalances. Apparent ability to undo the effects of wraith feeding aside; the sarcophagus technology had done many subtle wrongs to the Lantean. Todd recognised it as a crude derivative of the technology the Lanteans used in the great war, but how it had come to exist in this warped form escaped him.

Either way, he needed to mitigate its effects.

If this wraith knew anything about his curious Lantean, it was this, he _would_ attempt to escape. And Guide had every intention of joining him.

***

Jack glared around the conference table at everyone else in the meeting, daring one of them to derail it… again. The bare minimum of attendees were present, given the distrust Dixon had thrown into stark relief. Landry was there, Davis as their Homeworld liaison, Telford as their Washington liaison, and the two commanders of the least damaged BC-304s: Caldwell and Ellis. Jack knew he was lucky to have gotten this little gathering in under the IOA’s radar, if they were aware, they’d probably be trying to argue that Woolsey and/or Sheppard should be removed from Atlantis’s command staff ASAP again. The organisation seemed to have lost all sense of appropriate timing.

It had been days since multiple simultaneous attacks had affected nearly every branch of Earth’s space-faring effort. They were only just getting back on their feet, people had been reassigned, duty rosters shifted. It took most of the week to sort out the personnel who’d been whammied by the device the Alliance pushed through the gate with temporary quarters.

Teal’c, Lam, Captain-Doctor Satterfield, and lately McKay, were vehement there were no aftereffects once the damned thing was shut off, but Landry was taking no chances. Jack sympathised, much as he thought it was the wrong decision. Dixon was the first Za’tarc the other man had seen die under his watch. From bitter experience Jack knew the IOA would use this as an excuse to extract a pound of flesh from the SGC, and likely not a metaphorical one either, given that Senator Armstrong was dead. It was a small mercy that the Alliance apparently hadn’t discovered the location of the shipyards, or Atlantis.

The beta and gamma sites had been moved. Homeworld was back in its previous quiet and highly defended corner of the Pentagon again, Area 51 was starting over with getting to the Control Chair, and the SGC was back on its feet. Albeit, with approximately 50 personnel stuck living permanently on base until it could be ascertained they weren’t a danger, and an additional layer of gate security courtesy of the joint efforts of Doctors Kusanagi, McKay, and Perry.

Jack finished wool-gathering and summed up,

“This was a coordinated, organised attack across multiple fronts. Homeworld Command headquarters in DC were the least of it. We’re only lucky that Airman O’Donnell was there. His sacrifice stopped that bomb going off”

Lt Col Davis spoke up, “If it had gone up all of DC would have been irradiated.”

Hank flatly said, “Stargate Command was invaded; we still have several personnel unaccounted for. The attack was probably cover to grab them.”

Worryingly_ the Hammond_ was still incommunicado. Plans were in the off to rush repairs and send out the _Apollo_ to scan the ship’s intended route, since it never turned up at its destination. Currently, there were more than 450 souls unaccounted for in the vast expanse of space.

Jack added, “_The Hammond_ was ambushed. Last thing we heard they had contact with a mothership. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

Hank looked vaguely accusatory, which O’Neill thought was extremely unfair. He hadn’t given Sam the assignment. And besides, even if he had, she _deserved_ her own command, especially after the bullshit the IOA pulled dragging her away from Atlantis. Grim looks were shared all round. Jack continued adding to the dire list,

“An attempt was made to kidnap Martin Lloyd, fortunately his bodyguards prevented this. Cassandra Frasier was also targeted. She’s fine. Shaken, but, well she’s Janet’s daughter, she knows the risks.”

Landry looked bleak, the other general had been looking grey ever since Dixon hadn’t made it. In a tone that spoke of lost hope Hank continued gruffly,

“Those are just the attempts we know about because they reported in. We need to find out if anyone else was attacked, and if, or rather _who_ is missing.”

Davis, looking like he regretted having to share the news added, “You’ve not heard the rest of the list yet sir. Lorne, Beckett, and Keller very nearly got taken out in Arlington.”

Jack rubbed at his eyes, “_Jesus_.”

“It was a miracle no one was killed. We got lucky.”

“Lucky!” Jack barked out cynically, “What about our missing people _here_?”

Meeting his gaze steadily, the Lt Col continued to share the bad news, “The list is still growing. Dr Franklin, Sergeant Spencer, Dr Esposito and Dr Felger are the confirmed missing from base sir.”

“What?! Crap. Well, Felger’s a relief. He’ll probably accidentally blow up the bad guys for us.” Jack leaned back from the table, “Do we know who _else_ hasn’t turned up yet?”

“You mean apart from Vala, Sheppard, and Rush?”

“Yes, apart from them.” O’Neill sighed, rubbing at his jaw he asked, “What other confirmed attempts were made?”

Daniel barged in,

“So nice to be invited to this meeting.”

“Doctor Jackson what are you doin-“ Landry started. Daniel ignored him and busied himself with dumping a huge amount of paperwork, something covered in musical notation, and an Egyptology textbook on the table before responding,

“Orlin is missing.”

Hank looked stunned,

“What?!”

“Look I know I’m not supposed to know about all this, but I’ve been asking around. Members of the Atlantis Expedition were targeted, there was an ATA gene carrier in every group…” Daniel smiled that mean little smile of his, looking darkly amused, “They certainly do things differently out in Pegasus; did you hear about the convention attack? They took down the gunmen. Apparently, it was a bit of an issue persuading the police that the Expedition weren’t the aggressors…”

Landry sighed, seemingly giving up on the idea of getting Daniel to leave, “How public was it?”

“They were at a scientific conference, the event and venue security helped secure the assailants until law enforcement arrived.” Daniel turned and addressed the table as a whole, “From the SGC missing-list there’s Dr Franklin, our new superstar plants guy, and Sgt Spencer. They were both ATA gene carriers. There _must_ be a connection there.”

Telford interjected, “We don’t know that for sure. We still haven’t accounted for everyone that wasn’t on base.”

With a scowl of disbelief in Telford’s direction, Daniel spoke up, “You’re choosing to ignore the fact that we lost four newly identified ATA gene carriers before all this happened.” Daniel gestured around the room, as if to encompass the SGC, “We need to talk about the elephant in the room. There’s clearly been a leak. The Lucian Alliance must have found out abou-“

Jack sharply interrupted, “Daniel!”

“No Jack! Look at where our attempts at secrecy have gotten us! People are missing! Our people! Sam’s missing! The entire crew of the _Hammond_! Civilians kidnapped from our own backyard! Cam got shot down! Vala is gone! We’ve lost Dr Franklin! He worked in Botany! He was perfectly happy developing anti-cancer drugs until we got our claws into him. Did anyone even bother to tell him why he’d been brought into the programme?! Let alone Sgt Spencer. Did anyone here even care about _why_ he’d been medically discharged? Or what finding out about the SGC would do to the man? No, we reactivated the poor bastard and blithely dragged him away from his work helping veterans with mental health issues, after stupidly starting a genetic screening programme without bothering to think about the consequences of identifying these people would be and look where we’ve ended up!”

The people seated around the conference table sat awkwardly in stunned silence once Daniel’s tirade wound down.

“Thank you for that Doctor Jackson.” Hank growled out, utterly unimpressed. “Now sit down or get out.”

Daniel took a chair, he ignored Landry pointedly,

“There were a lot of ATA carriers on the _Hammond_ Jack.”

Jack sighed,

“We were just getting to that Danny.”

Telford chimed in again,

“We still need to honour our agreements with the Pegasus Coalition. With the _Hammond_ missing…”

Landry sighed for the umpteenth time, “Colonel Caldwell you’re going to need to make a round trip to Pegasus.”

The tall man looked resigned.

“Back to driving the bus.”

“It’s important work Colonel.”

“Oh I know, I just. Well I never thought I’d say this, gentlemen, but I wish Sheppard had full command in Pegasus right now.”

Telford leaned back from the table and added casually,

“How do we know that Sheppard isn’t in some way responsible for this situation? Hell of a coincidence, he’s back on Earth, and ATA carriers go missing.”

Jack watched Hank’s expression go wooden. He opened his mouth, preparing something witty and cutting when -

“No, I will not accept that.”

Caldwell, of all people, was the one who spoke up.

“You all know Sheppard and I have had our differences over the years.”

There were snorts all around.

“But the person you’re describing sounds nothing like the officer I’ve come to know. Whilst I don’t think Sheppard and I will _ever_ agree on his laidback leadership style, it works out there in Pegasus. ”

Colonel Ellis joined in, “I don’t think I’ve seen that man ever ask something of one of his men that he wouldn’t be willing to do himself.”

Davis added a dryly sarcastic, “He puts up with the most insane of our marines, and apparently even does all of his own paperwork.”

There were quiet chuckles.

Caldwell continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted,

“My point is gentlemen, if Colonel Sheppard were in your position right now? He wouldn’t be asking if it was worth looking for you. He’d already be out there.” The colonel glared around at everyone else sat around the conference table, “On that note I would like to request that the _Daedalus_ be sent out to search for the _Hammond, _since it’s last known position is en route out of the galaxy. A lot of my crew was seconded to our sister ship. I know I speak for most of my people when I say we’d feel better to be the one’s searching.”

Landry cut across him, “No colonel, orders are orders. I know this is a difficult time, but I need you in Pegasus right now.”

Uncharacteristically Caldwell looked as if he was going to argue, Landry continued, “Colonel Ellis, we’re fast tracking the repairs of the _Apollo_, as soon as she’s space worthy, you have a go for that search and rescue mission.”

“Yessir.”

Tiredly Landry continued,

“Telford, I want you to take care of the Armstrongs for me. Keep Patricia from doing anything in her grief.”

“Yessir.”

“We need to find something useful for the daughter to do around here, part of the deal to stop her talking was allowing the family to make sure the Senator’s wishes for the programme wouldn’t be ignored.”

Jack rolled his eyes so hard he was worried they’d fall out at that one. He hoped things would work out for the best on that front. Nepotism rarely ended well.

Walter rushed into the conference room, Landry scowled at yet another interruption,

“Sirs! Area 51 just called it in, they finally got down to the basement levels, the wraith’s gone missing.”

“Oh for crying out loud!”

The meeting split up rapidly. Landry, Telford and Davis running off to put out numerous political fires _that_ news had likely started. A wraith, possibly loose on Earth. Dammit.

Jack lingered, he ended up glaring pointedly at Caldwell and Ellis when it looked as if the colonels wanted a word with him, when Jack wanted a word with his geek.

“What more do you want Jack? I’m already traipsing around the galaxy on a wild goose chase.”

“It’s _not_ a wil-“

“Yeah yeah I know, find Vala’s contacts. See if they heard anything about a plan to get to Earth.”

Jack shot Daniel a furious glare. That mission was probably their people’s best hope.

“Any success getting in touch with Vala’s people?”

Daniel scowled, and started mulishly poking at the music in front of him.

“No, and I don’t think we’re going to have any luck there either.”

***

Nervily Vala eyed up her fellow ex-host and pondered what to say. It was a great risk revealing even this much to the other woman, but, Vala had to face up to the distinct possibility that keeping Gardner in ignorance would lead to her inadvertently giving the whole game away.

The other woman was brittle, filled with the same frightened anger that had been Vala’s _entire world_ when she’d stumbled out of Thor’s Hammer all those years ago. Conversationally Vala asked the question that had been at the forefront of her mind ever since they’d met,

“So, how’d that pox ridden whore’s daughter catch you anyway?”

“Catch me?” A bitter laugh, “One moment I was in my therapist’s office. Fat good a therapist is, when you can’t tell them the truth for fear of getting _sectioned_, the next the office was filled with men in uniform demanding I come with them, that I was under arrest for treason. By the time I worked out the truth? It was too late. Athena’s _pricks_ had me.”

Vala kept an eye on the Jaffa as the other woman wound down from her impassioned rant. They didn’t seem to give a prim’ta’s ass whether they talked or not. Vala had been right, there was plenty of anger there. She made her decision,

“Since that grub sucker didn’t bother to introduce us; Vala Mal Doran. Former host to Qetesh, now a valued member of SG-1, righting wrongs across Stella Via. Adventuress extraordinaire.”

“Doctor Sarah Gardner. Art Historian. Formally of Cambridge, lately of the whole damned Milky Way.” The blonde grinned bitterly at her, a wry twist to her mouth, “I’m still trying to pick up the pieces Osiris made of my life. Far as the world’s concerned, I went on an unplanned sabbatical lasting three years with no notice. They all think that’s code for a breakdown. I can’t get work. I still have nightmares. The US government just dropped me back into my life and expected me to get on with it. This?” the newly identified Sarah Gardner gestured with the rag she was holding, and laughed low and mocking, “Unhealthy as it sounds, this is almost a _relief_. It feels more _normal_.”

“Oh believe me I know. Qetesh had me for _decades_. Afterwards was no picnic either.”

“As opposed to here?”

Vala took her destiny in her hands, if she was judging the other woman right, and Vala knew she was with that familiar rage reflecting back at her…

“Oh no, here? This is nothing. I’ve got a plan. And I need your help.”

In low tones Vala explained what she was trying to do, Gardner approved wholeheartedly. The other woman even came up with a suggestion or two herself about where to hide their ill-gotten stash. Gardner had realised that this Ha’tak was of an altogether more ancient design than most of the Jaffa seemed used to… and having been old-Osiris’s host for a number of years, she knew a thing or two about locations of cubby holes that weren’t likely to be discovered.

Vala was relieved to find a little fellowship here, in this time and this place. Even as she felt an unexpected and unwelcome twinge of guilt, that _she’d_ found friendship, where Rush was enduring nothing but stress… and Shep- Beautiful was going through horrors.

She just managed to discreetly pass a small portion of the acid they’d been using to clean the most stubborn grime out of the hieroglyphs over to Sarah, when Athena’s guards appeared en mass.

Vala thought they’d been caught, but aside from being pushed roughly to the floor, Gardner was left alone. Vala caught a glimpse of the other woman’s panicked expression as she was hauled away.

She was dragged to Rush’s oppressive computer room. The Jaffa kept a bruising grip on her arms the whole way.

Athena was waiting.

“This is what you get for disobedience Doctor Rush.”

Vala looked around in panic, understanding instant. She shot Gorgeous a look that she hoped to hell let the slight man know that it was _not his fault_.

“_Disobedience_?” Rush was shouting, “I did exactly as you asked! It’s nae my fault that there was nothing to find on Colson’s servers! It’s _your_ fault your intel was _useless_! There was _nothing_ to find!”

Their whole sorry procession was dragged along the corridors of the decrepit Ha’tak. Vala started struggling anew when she realised she was being dragged to the lab. The stench was the first clue. She was manhandled into a chair and stared in horror at the desiccated corpse hanging forlornly on the wall, like a morbid decoration. With dismay Vala realised she recognised him from his shirt, it was Dr Rayscombe.

There was an exclamation of outrage, only then did she realise Sheppard was strung up on the wall closest to the door. He was writhing against the restraints, unheeding the blood trickling down his arms where they dug into his flesh. Grimly Vala thought she recognised the handiwork of a sarcophagus in his near mindless actions.

“What have you done to him Athena?”

“Oh, nothing I can’t undo. Don’t worry yourself Mal Doran, I want this one’s ATA gene.”

“Hah! I knew it! Lying bitch!”

Sheppard’s triumphant, if ill-judged exclamation made them all jump. Nick looked half out of his mind with worry. Vala tried not to add to it,

“I see he’s not entirely rational.” Vala aimed for cutting. She managed to keep the quaver out of her voice, and drew the conwoman around herself like a cloak, “Well done. You’ve made him angry.”

“Oh, I plan to make him angrier still.”

Athena smiled a smug, not entirely sane, smile. Sheppard’s wraith was dragged over from its cell. Vala couldn’t help but jerk in the arms of the Jaffa that held her. Her body’s reaction to the predator instinctive and unstoppable. Rush’s expression was a twisted broken thing.

_‘Not your fault.’ _Vala mouthed.

By Ra, Vala hoped he believed her.

“Punish _me_! For god’s sake ye stupid cunt, it’s not her fault!”

Athena maliciously smiled,

“Oh no Doctor Rush, that was never our deal.”

“_Deal_!? There was ne’er any deal ye insane hen! We never made any deal!”

Rush’s voice was high, thin, and hysterical.

Looking regretful the wraith allowed himself to be pushed forward. Vala stared into his yellow eyes, unable to look anywhere else but at the predator’s gaze. Was that regret? From what she’d heard of the wraith, she doubted it, and yet. Vala had been a killer herself, she _knew_ the hopelessness of bending to another’s will with no hope of escape.

Athena’s voice cut across the moment,

“Know this is all because Doctor Rush failed me in his duties. This is his punishment, not yours. Though, I confess, that is a convenient side-effect.”

The part of her mind that wasn’t gibbering in terror sank with relief. They hadn’t been found out. Not yet.

The huge green clawed hand settled against her sternum.

Vala heard Nick’s voice turn pleading and broken, as Vala beheld for the first time, the horror of a wraith, and experienced the agony of feeding. The pain was up there with the inescapable torment her unwanted passenger used to ‘punish’ her with back in the day. But at least this she could escape. Vala couldn’t quite hold back the screams as the feeding began. Sheppard’s howls for Todd to stop joined her own.

Gratefully Vala slipped into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah poor Sheppard, poor Rush, poor Vala... Things will begin to look up for our protagonists! Promise!
> 
> Grateful thanks for the kind reviews and comments. They really do help keep me going through the hated slog of editing! And huge thanks to the 100 subscribers/followers who've decided they want notifications for this thing, I hadn't thought there were enough people active in Stargate fandom for this thing to reach three figures like that!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The darkest hour, you're twenty two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the epic delay with this chapter! 
> 
> Uh torturey not good times warning :- the nadir for our heroes has arrived. Uh, Athena's still being a sadistic so and so, but I'm not sure what if any trigger warnings would be appropriate here, it's very much in-line with Stargate canon level nastiness, but if anyone thinks I should add specific stuff to the tags please do say so!

** Chapter 9: **

“Is it true, Doctor Pierce fought off his kidnapping attempt with a _sword_?”

It was Ingram, being his usual irritating self. Ever since Rodney made the mistake of sharing that micrograph with the engineer, he’d chosen McKay’s office his favourite hangout spot.

“What?” Rodney mumbled distracted, the video recovery program was showing 99% complete, “Oh, yes yes, he set up the re-enactment barony on Atlantis.”

Rodney had vague impressions of a beaky nose and changeable eyes, remarkably like Sheppard’s set. Pierce was one of the nuisance linguists, given the man was in the soft sciences, it was remarkable Rodney even remembered that much. But, well, even on Atlantis a sword wielding linguist stood out.

Ingram sounded surprised, “Wait, they let him bring a sword to Atlantis?”

Humming absently, Rodney replied, “He keeps it sharp too. Pierce and Ronon are always sparring in the gym. Somehow, I’ve lost Dr Kusanagi, Dr Okoye, and Dr Biro to Pierce’s little barony. I don’t understand it. As the name implies the whole thing is _idiotically_ medieval.”

Ingram sounded alarmingly thoughtful,

“Maybe I should think about signing up to Atlantis, I never seriously considered it. Too few opportunities to practice my field. There’s _plenty_ of new alloys to be analysed here. But with your progress on the hull, and _swords_, sounds like you’ll need a smithy…”

The software beeped its completion.

Rodney tracked the progress of two of the SGC’s missing personnel up the staircase on the grainy, and glitch-laden recovered video. Doctor Franklin, who hadn’t even been here a day, and Sgt Spencer. There was a distinctive flash of white light. The unmistakeable glare of beaming technology. The pair vanished.

It should have been impossible, the SGC was shielded. And yet… The Trust _had _beamed away the gate that one time, _post_ the dampeners being installed. Rodney heaved a sigh out through his nose, frustration making Ingram’s presence secondary to the footage. Was the entirety of the SGC vulnerable? Or just certain areas?

He scanned rapidly through the rest of the recovered images.

Everyone who vanished, did so on the staircase.

The very evacuation route that was supposed to take people to safety was _how_ they’d been taken.

Rodney dove into the investigation. He tore through a systems-check on the grid of electromagnetic field emitters the SGC used to theoretically make beam-outs impossible. Every one of them came back in the green. Which, no. They weren’t. They _couldn’t_ be.

If _Rodney_ hadn’t found a workaround for the remarkably effective blocking method, after years of trying to work out how to beam nukes onto Hiveships, he couldn’t fathom how anyone else could have worked it out. He pushed through the greenlit self-diagnostic reports and got into the raw data.

Oh. _That_ wasn’t good.

The emitters were fine.

There was a separate interference field, effectively _cancelling_ _out_ the anti-beaming interference at the source.

After a few horrified minutes of searching, Rodney got confirmation his suspicions were correct, the anti-beaming field around the staircase, specifically the staircase between levels 20-15, had been deliberately nullified.

He scanned back, until he found what he was searching for. There.

An anonymous airman placed a series of boxes on the stairwells, just the day before. He pulled the footage and saved it. How had no one spotted this? It wasn’t exactly hidden. Rodney prepared to run off and go shout at some generals. Then it hit him. Rodney remembered the other footage the software had been set to recover.

He clicked over to the missing time.

It was an excellent job. If Rodney had been anyone else, it wouldn’t have been possible to recover anything from the thoroughly deleted and overwritten section of the servers. But, short of taking a magnet to the server stacks, the culprit had no means to _physically_ destroy the information. Not without being extremely obvious.

Rodney watched the scene play out with increasing rage, Kavanagh being an evil little shit.

Sheppard reacting as expected.

Vala walking in on the confrontation.

Then Ingram heading straight to the server room.

Rodney saw red, “I know what you did Ingram!”

The Brit, infuriatingly, played dumb, “What the hell are you on about Dr McKay?”

“You tampered with the CCTV footage! I know it was you!”

Comprehension dawned. Rodney watched with no little satisfaction as a look of fear crossed the traitorous engineer’s face,

“It’s not what you think.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You were in on it weren’t you? You and Kavanagh! I’ve only gotten back half of what you corrupted but you did it together. I don’t know what you did to Sheppard, but he was there, I saw!”

“No. No. Really Sheppard asked me to –“

“Bullshit! It’s a wonder you got away with being a spy all these years you’ve got a terrible poker face!”

“That’s ‘cause I’m _not_ a spy! Honestly, Dr McKay I’m not lying.”

“He isn’t you know.”

Rodney whirled on Dr Park,

“You! You hussy! You’re just like Chaya luring him in with your eyes and your lips and your wiles don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t fool me Lisa! I saw you in the footage, being all, all, _attentive_! I should have known! Sheppard _always_ attracts the evil ones, you and Vala were in it together weren’t you! And Ingram! Admit it!”

A new voice interrupted Rodney’s tirade,

“What the _hell_ is going on here?”

Rodney whirled on Jack O’Neill, barely losing his stride, completely ignoring the look of displeasure on the thoroughly irritating and judgemental general’s face,

“Oh stay out of it O’Neill, you’re culpable! Your teammate was in on this all along, it was right under your nose and you didn’t see and now, now Sheppard’s missing and and -”

The three-star general gave McKay a quizzical look, part quelling disappointment, part apparently genuine confusion. It only riled Rodney up even more,

“They did something to Sheppard! Security footage is missing!” Rodney pointed an accusing finger, “He deleted it!”

Ingram’s retort was low,

“If you think you know what’s good for your friend, you’ll drop this Doctor McKay!”

Rodney pointed at the other scientist triumphantly,

“Aha! See! A threat! That was a threat!”

O’Neill sighed loudly,

“You lot, my office. Now.”

Doctor Park looked confused,

“Uh… Do you have an office here sir?”

“Oh, right. Hank’s office.” O’Neill walked off, clearly expecting them to follow. He turned around when he got a ways down the corridor and said, “Well? Come on!”

Through a series of embarrassed explanations, and several stops and starts, O’Neill and McKay gradually wrested the truth from Ingram and Park. O’Neill was the one who summed the whole stinking situation up. In a darkly amused tone he said,

“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight. Kavanagh assaulted Sheppard with an object that he _knew _would send the guy into a panic. Sheppard panicked.”

Ingram and Park both nodded like naughty schoolchildren. It would have been comical if the situation weren’t so serious. O’Neill continued,

“Then, instead of, oh I don’t know, reporting yet another incident involving Kavanagh to HR, as is procedure with personnel issues. You agreed to cover it up?”

Ingram and Park sheepishly stared at their laps,

“Because Sheppard somehow convinced himself we’d kick him out because he’d seen something _anyone_ would jump at, and reacted? All whilst under the influence of some pretty hefty painkillers?”

Nearly synchronous nodding.

“And _then, _you conspired with Vala to melt Kavanagh’s lab in retaliation? Which got all of them kicked off base just in time for _this”_ O’Neill gestured to encompass the whole mountain, “to go down…”

By this point they were looking at their shoes in fascination again.

O’Neill stared suspiciously into the mug of tea he’d acquired some time during the course of the conversation, looking exhausted. Rodney sympathised. He hadn’t slept well since before the conference started, and that felt like a million years ago. Rodney glared at the two of them,

“See! We have procedure for a reason you untrammelled morons! Because of you, we just wasted an hour we could have spent _looking for Sheppard_ going over yet another reason why Kavanagh is an unparalleled sore on the collective behind of humanity! You should never _listen_ to Sheppard when he says he’s ‘fine’ that’s usually code for ‘I need to go shoot something for five hours!’”

“_McKay_.”

“What?!”

Rodney whirled on O’Neill, only to be met with a very Sheppard-esque implacable glower,

“Now that we’ve established these two and Vala probably _aren’t_ spies, can we get on with, you know, working out what the hell happened? Have you been working on how they blocked the gate at all? Or just fussing over this all day?”

Rodney flushed,

“Well, no, no. Not _just_ this.”

O’Neill raised his eyebrows at him and tilted his head questioningly. Rodney hurried to fill the silence,

“I’ve been going over the footage of the invasion itself to try and work out just what happened to our missing people.”

“Any luck?”

Rodney could feel his skin going blotchy and red, he responded, trying, and failing not to sound suspicious he got out,

“Maybe. I don’t want to talk about it in front of these two. They’ve already _proven_ they can’t be trusted!” Rodney turned to gesture at the pair in question and was startled by what he saw. Incredulously he bit out, “Why is he eating a banana?”

Ingram, still munching on the fruit in question replied, “Because this meeting is a marathon.”

Rodney stared.

Ingram continued, “In a few hours I’ll be laughing. You need to keep your blood sugar up for something like this.”

A large vicious bite was taken out of the banana. Ingram stared pointedly McKay’s way, holding his gaze as he continued to attack the fruit. Park smirked though she was obviously trying not to.

Giving up on trying to work out what on Earth Ingram was going on about this time, Rodney pulled faces at O’Neill, trying to indicate that he should send the two traitorous Sheppard-losing idiots away so they could discuss matters. Eventually the general took the hint, he waved the other two off. Park meekly rose, Ingram got up, half-eaten banana in hand, still pointedly munching.

“Right, well. This isn’t over, but I can tell we’re all tired. Go. Eat. Take a nap. For crying out loud, just unwind before you explode of nerves!”

Rodney waited for the others to leave, glaring as they took their sweet time getting out of the office, before turning back on O’Neill.

“I worked out how the people who went missing during the invasion got taken.” O’Neill waved a hand impatiently for him to continue, McKay added hastily, “Someone sabotaged the anti-beaming field.”

“Well crap.”

“I’ve no idea who he is, no one I recognised. But well. Look.”

Rodney turned his Atlantis issue laptop over to the general and watched with perverse satisfaction as O’Neill’s mood visibly joined his own in the land of the utterly incensed.

“Thanks for the intel doc. I’ve got a few heads to bash together.”

O’Neill chivvied him out of the office and slammed the door behind him. The nerve of the man! If this was Atlantis he’d recognise Rodney’s genius and-

Ingram and Park were waiting in the conference room. Rodney met their gazes, embarrassed himself. The three of them trailed away from Landry’s office, O’Neill’s irate tones as he used the red phone to spread his foul mood around with a shovel, echoing through the door behind them. 

Rodney lingered in the conference room that overlooked the wreckage of the gate room. He stared morosely at a patch of blood under the power junction, where Colonel Coburn slowly bled to death. Swallowing thickly, he turned away from the sight, Ingram stared at him sympathetically, banana nowhere to be seen.

“What do you want?” Rodney groused.

“Need help gathering the data about the invasion?”

“_No_.” Rodney sniffed haughtily, “Besides, wasn’t your major _engineering_?”

“Yes, materials engineering.”

Radek’s engineering degree flashed in his mind.

“Oh, alright.” Rodney stalked off towards his workspace, “Well, come on. It’s your fault I got distracted in the first place!”

Park started babbling, Rodney boggled at the talkative woman’s stream of consciousness, before she could work up a head of steam, he interrupted,

“Come on, let’s fetch the SFs. We’ve got emitters to uninstall. I want to work out where the hell they came from. But, well… Okay, if you tell _anyone_ I said this I’ll deny it and ruin your credit rating, so don’t bother, I’m no CSI or AFOSI or whatever we call it under the mountain. We need their expertise.”

***~

Gardner was all horrified concern when Vala was dumped in the Jaffa barracks. Vala painfully heaved herself upwards and got working, ignoring her fellow captive’s not so surreptitious worry as she scrubbed angrily at the walls. Anything to block out the horror of what just happened.

Under the not-so-attentive stare of their guard they worked. By silent consensus, Sarah quietly secreted their stash of chemicals in the hidden panels in the walls, after Vala very nearly killed them both when her hands kept shaking. She’d very nearly dropped the bleach into the acid, which, as Nick had said – instant chlorine gas.

An hour passed in tense watchful silence, before Vala’s bubble of denial was shattered. Vala was grabbed from behind as she bent arthritically to apply bleach to the floor. Kicking wildly, Vala was bodily hauled away from the hieroglyphs she’d been tasked to clean. This was it; she was done for. They’d caught her hoarding the chemicals.

She met Gardner’s eye, and tried to signal that the other woman shouldn’t stop what they were doing. The plan _was_ going to work. It had to. They just needed to secrete enough of this stuff around the place to mix something up. They were _this close_ to rigging several of the support columns with explosives.

The Jaffa dragging her along pointedly pushed Vala’s head towards the cleaning supplies,

“Work.”

Gardner, fury writ large across every line of her body called out,

“What? How ca-“

The Jaffa, clearly not the brightest tool in the bunch replied,

“Clean.”

Gardner crouched down and started trying to help. Vala groaned lowly, as Sarah accidentally awakened raw nerve endings in her bid to get her moving. Worriedly the other woman quietly murmured,

“Come on. They’re not going to leave us alone until you get up again. Stupid power games. Soon as he’s gone you can rest, promise.”

Vala felt absolutely abysmal. She couldn’t fathom how the hell S.O. managed to keep a clear head if he’d felt like this. She groaned and tried to help Gardner haul her up. The other woman’s arm around her bicep was a welcome anchor, distracting Vala from the way everything ached. Improbably, even Vala’s hair joined in with her body’s complaints.

With Sarah’s help Vala rose gingerly to her feet. She accepted the cleaning sponge Gardner pointedly thrust into her hands and turned to the wall.

Looking satisfied the Jaffa left.

After waiting a beat, Gardner turned to her, and patience clearly gone said,

“Oh, god. What the hell did they do to you? Are you okay?” A second later the other woman started scolding herself bitterly, “No. No stupid question, of course you’re not okay. What can I do to help? Does it hurt?”

“Doctor Gardner, Sarah, I’m… I’m alright.”

Oh the irony. Vala was pulling a Sheppard. She felt bloody far from alright, but what else could she do? Vala learnt that much from her father, fake it until you make it was a hell of a way to drag yourself through circumstances that should turn you into a gibbering wreck. But it was either force herself to keep going or break down in a corner somewhere and cry until Athena’s Jaffa came back. And if she did that? Well, Vala might as well lie down and wait to die, that’s how much use it would be.

No.

Digging deep into the reserves of sheer pig-headedness that’d gotten her through those excruciating decades with Qetesh, Vala pulled herself up to her full height, and turned to face the other woman.

“We’ve got to stick with the plan.” Vala met Gardner’s gaze, holding Gardner there with the force of her glare, even as the Tau’ri flinched away at Vala’s appearance, “We’re too close. There’s too many people counting on us to give up.”

Despair was writ large across the other woman’s face, Vala found herself snapping angrily in response to it. That cussed urge to never give up, never lie down and die, never just let it all wash over her even in the face of the inevitable,

“No! I refuse to have gone through this for _nothing_.” With inflamed aching fingers Vala found that _she_ was the one reaching out and shaking the other woman, dragging Gardner back from the black pit of hopelessness that loomed, “We _will_ get out of here. We’re going to rescue ourselves and everyone else, and _then_ we’re going to blow Athena’s ship to so much space dust and make the primta _eat_ it.”

Gardner snapped back to herself just as she’d helped Vala edge away from that looming precipice minutes earlier. She nodded, still looking shocky and altogether too frightened, but the simmer of anger that powered all Sarah’s actions was back.

“You know,” Gardner said, “if Athena wasn’t lying and you were taken by chance… I wonder why the hell she took me? _I_ don’t have this magic gene she’s obsessed with, I was just Osiris’s host. Though, that seems reason enough for her.”

“Huh. You know, I have no idea. It couldn’t be something as simple as revenge?”

Sarah scoffed, then wryly started waterproofing the rags they’d been converting to containers. The small capsules that resulted from layering the polish/wax for the walls on the cleaning cloths seemed to hold up well enough. Better still, they didn’t look like much, easy to overlook if the Jaffa took it into their heads to inspect anything.

***~

The devastation to _The Hammond’s_ systems was appalling. The ship held its own in the six on one battle, yes. But this journey was intended to be the shakedown cruise, not a to-destruction test. They hadn’t been supposed to go up against six Ha’taks, let alone actually _enter_ the system that contained the damnable pulsar. Sam sighed and rubbed at her eyes. She’d been up nearly 72 hours, scrambling to fix the life support systems after everything went to hell.

The close quarters battle they’d fought had been vicious. Members of her crew were dead. Bulkheads had been breached; others sealed. Six cabins on the aft side of the ship were uninhabitable. Not to mention the hole in the hull where the breaching pod was still attached, another complication to their hyperdrive situation.

It was a mess.

Sam gulped as the imagery from the aft side cabins rose to the forefront of her mind again.

Those six cabins, right next to the hull, had lost life-support. Even the robust circuitry of the Asgardian crystals hadn’t wholly been able to stand up to the intense burst of radiation received from the pulsar. Sam was grateful the only people in those compartments at the time were invaders. It could have been much worse. It _should_ have been much worse. It was pure luck that saved her crew from being fried extra crispy, Ronon’s vendetta against the brutal Lucian Alliance second, Dannic, a blessing in disguise.

As it stood, those cabins would need to undergo complete biohazard decontamination procedures before they could begin contemplating getting the systems in that side of the ship working again. That wasn’t even accounting for the fact they suddenly had thirty additional bodies on board, stressing already overtaxed systems.

The scars that scorched the walls were the least of her concerns, if she couldn’t get the CO2 scrubbers operating at full capacity, they’d all be dead in two days.

Too many people were dead already.

Sam only had the minor consolation of how the Expedition members conducted themselves in this affair. If they made it back alive, Sam was going to make a point of reporting how well certain members of her crew responded to the crisis. Military and civilian members of the Atlantis Expedition alike acted like seasoned veterans.

Sgt Stackhouse saved dozens of lives when he pulled the airlock controls. If it weren’t for the NCO’s quick-thinking, things would have gone very differently. His initiative bought Sam the time needed to isolate the life-support systems ship wide, and start choking their invaders with nitrogen.

It was a calculated risk.

They’d timed the atmosphere alterations precisely.

Two minutes, minor risk of hypoxic brain injury, but compared to the guaranteed damage once Kiva worked out she could start shooting with no immediate repercussions.

There’d been a lot of people with terrible headaches in both the infirmary and the brig half an hour later.

But the battle was over.

Sam made her way to the ship’s infirmary to get a few uppers. She’d need them if she was going to keep working. Gravity was amongst the very first systems that had been restored, Sam gratefully luxuriated in the ability to walk around normally.

Sam was glad her new medic, Lieutenant Johansen, had a cool head. Carter would have to thank whoever recommended her for this assignment. TJ calmly treated Varro, despite the threat to her life from people who wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her if she’d shown any hesitation. Sam was largely ambivalent about Varro’s fate, but thanks to Johansen’s calm demeanour, Kiva hadn’t found more excuses to kill people. They’d been right to recommend her.

Now, if only Sam could get the parts to fix her ship.

Sam ran an eye around the infirmary, carefully checking the wounded LA members restrained in the corner. Cadman’s report of what went on inside the mess was alarming. Ruthless as Kiva was, her lieutenants were worse. Where Kiva was coolly merciless, Dannic was a hot-headed psychopath. Given his previous glee, Simeon was being alarmingly cooperative. Sam half-wished the First Ronon admired so much wasn’t out for the count. The gruff Satedan practically recited oaths about the standoff they’d shared, if Sam was interpreting Ronon’s usual curt sentences correctly.

“What’s wrong?”

Speak of the devil, Ronon was still up. Sam sympathised; he couldn’t be comfortable with his back in that state.

“Nothing Ronon, get some rest.”

“Carter. Don’t pull that. What’s wrong?”

Sam heaved out a sigh, even as she asked TJ to fetch the meds, earning herself a concerned stare from the medic,

“Remember how we thought it was sabotage?”

“Yeah?” Abruptly Ronon looked furious.

“It wasn’t. The Lucian Alliance put a nasty little trojan in the breaching pod they boarded us with, it overloaded a few power relays.”

She’d known, when she cannibalized parts for the shields that she’d come to regret those hasty repairs in future. That future had caught up with her.

“Oh.”

Ronon clearly didn’t get it, Sam dumped the bad news out there, “Well, one of the things it overloaded? Primary shield control.”

Ronon nodded at the old news, still not understanding the significance, Sam continued,

“My fix for the shields is holding. But I can’t fix _both_ shields and hyperdrives at the same time. We don’t have the parts. Honestly? I don’t know how long the shields will hold, and with that pulsar? We need them.”

Powering the shields with crystals stolen from the hyperdrive array meant one of the key hyperdrive crystals had also cracked. As it stood the shields were needed to stop the damned pulsar frying them all every sixty minutes, even one solar system over. Sam wasn’t convinced her workaround would hold.

Carter sighed, she really should insist they start carrying spares. This problem cropped up far too frequently for extra control crystals _not_ to be part of the standard maintenance kit.

A new voice cut across the conversation, “Did any of our Ha’tak’s survive the battle?”

Taken aback Sam spun around, one of the injured Lucian Alliance members was sitting up, Ronon glared threateningly. Sam waved him off, and asked,

“Why?”

“Well, I’m no scientist, you’ll need some of our guys to tell you if it’s possible. But the motherships will have crystals.”

“What’s your name?”

“Varro. I am, I _was_ Kiva’s First.”

Ah, Ronon’s glower suddenly made sense.

Sam nodded at him, “Thank you Varro.”

***~

Jack rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly and went to show his fellow general the footage McKay uncovered. As well as the incident with Dr Kavanagh, which he would be having words about, there were the interference laden images McKay managed to unearth of their missing personnel making their way topside. Jack dreaded to think what Hank would make of the distinctive flare of a beam out engulfing the figures evacuating in the footage.

The SGC was supposed to be proof against this tech.

And yet… There it was clear as da- well no, the footage wasn’t five by five by any means, but it was clear enough.

Feeling unaccountably nervous about sharing the news Jack rapped his knuckles on the other general’s door.

“Hank, we’ve got a situation.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No_, on top_ of the ongoing situation.”

Landry blanched.

“Yeah, those missing people? I know how they got out of the SGC. It confirms our suspicions; we’ve got rats.”

Hank looked diminished, he’d been looking small and tired ever since Colonel Dixon passed under Lam’s care. Cynically Jack wondered if it was the weight of responsibility for Dixon’s death weighing so heavily on the other general, or the fact that he’d forced his own daughter to bear the burden of that responsibility as well.

Belatedly Jack passed over the footage, of course, Hank clicked into the wrong file first. The other general’s expression went black as Kavanagh’s cruelty played out on the desktop,

“Jack… What is this?”

O’Neill felt a great sense of guilt for piling more on an already overflowing plate, and yet, Landry had dealt with the Ori crisis. If he couldn’t steer the SGC through this…

“Kavanagh committing a fireable offence.”

Landry levelled Jack with a stern look, Jack raised his eyebrows right back at him and continued,

“Sheppard somehow got it into his fool head that you’d kick him out for reacting the way _anyone_ would react to, well, _that_. Somehow it ended with half the scientists deliberately blowing up Kavanagh’s lab rather than taking it to HR, and half of SG-1, Dr Rush, and Sheppard being off-base and in a position to get snatched.”

Jack could only describe the expression on Hank’s face as guilt.

“I fear I might have contributed to Sheppard trying to hide this.”

It was Jack’s turn to pull a face. Landry seemed to shrink in on himself,

“I – I was in _Vietnam_ Jack. I should have known better. I remember what it was like to come back from that hell. Barely holding it together over the things I’d seen and done. Only to find the folks back home didn’t care, hell, they thought _I_ was invading scum, and my men deserved it.”

Jack was sympathetic, but unimpressed by the sudden attack of conscience. Hank should have considered what this rift was doing to Atlantis, let alone Sheppard, years ago. Besides, unfortunate as the situation was, they had bigger fish to fry,

“Look. We need to work out who our rats are.”

“Rats. Plural?”

“Well, _someone_ sabotaged our anti-beaming field. And it wasn’t Dixon.”

Jack cued the other set of videos McKay had uncovered.

***~

“Sheppard.”

Someone was taunting him, John snapped his head around to snarl at the interloper to his own personal hell. It was bad enough he was stuck here.

“Sheppaard…”

There was something familiar about the voice, but the thick miasma of rage that meant John was feeling no pain, also made working out what the hell was going on next to impossible. John settled for lunging towards the intruder. The bonds lashing him to the wall stopped him short, pulling him back into an even more vulnerable position.

Pain sliced through his world. Shattering the anger John cloaked himself in. The anger ramped up as a slither of fear penetrated the fog of confusion. No! Anger, anger was safe, anger was useful. Fear, fear did no one any good, least of all him.

Slowly, inexorably, John came back to himself.

He didn’t like what he discovered.

He was still in Athena’s lab, Todd staring at him from the confines of his energy cell. Athena loomed over him, pain stick crackling angrily in her hand.

The Goa’uld grinned smugly,

“Now I know the sarcophagus works so successfully on your physiology, I don’t need to be so careful.”

Sheppard didn’t want to let the frisson of fear that shot through him show. Beside him O’Neill 2.0 started swearing quietly. It was decidedly not reassuring. Dammit, the bitch knew how to screw with a guy’s head.

Athena turned to her guards, and coolly said,

“Since he still refuses to cooperate. I see no reason he can’t fulfil an alternative purpose. He’ll be your entertainment. Beat him to death. Whatever. Do what you will. I don’t care.”

She paused to let that horrific statement sink in,

“Just make sure you get him in the sarcophagus within a few minutes if you kill him. Nothing the magic of your goddess can’t fix.”

Still strung up on the wall as he was, John couldn’t even jerk his head away as the first fist shot towards his face.

Behind the Goa’uld shielding that separated him from the lab, Todd started to laugh. It was a sound shot through with despair. O’Neill’s screams for the bastards to stop mixed with the thumps, splatters and hysterical laughter as John’s world spiralled down to nothing but pain.

When he was coherent again, John was dismayed to realise Vala was cleaning the lab. Or rather struggling to clean the lab. She looked ancient, as ancient as – John shot a hateful glare Todd’s way. Todd just grinned back.

Half his concentration was stuck on the knowledge Vala had been in the room during the latest round of brutality. The rest of John was busy feeling ashamed he was focusing on himself when Vala looked like a centenarian and was struggling to drag a filthy rag over the lab’s hieroglyphs.

John scrambled desperately for something they could use as a signal, just in case. As his time over the cuckoo’s nest had just proven, he couldn’t rely wholly on hand signals. Not for this.

With a flash of mad inspiration, it came to him,

“Vala, remember that movie we watched the other day?”

The look Vala shot him was filled with dismayed concern, “Yes SO?” she asked as if indulging a maniac.

“Remember when…” John started humming a few bars from ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’ at her. If anything, the look of dismay grew more intense.

“Well, remember what happened _next_?”

It took a long _long_ moment, but understanding dawned.

“Orange mocha frappuccinos?”

“Yep.”

Out of a sense of healthy paranoia John used hand signs to confirm that was the go signal.

John couldn’t quite believe a throwaway sight gag in _Zoolander_ of all things had become central to their escape plans. But hell if it worked. If they got out of this, he was so going to rub Mitchell’s nose in it.

After an age Vala left, and Doc Porter was dragged in again. Athena slyly smiled at them both,

“Now behave, or she suffers.”

Allison gulped, but bravely held her ground. John, feeling guilty the whole time, kept up with keeping the ancienty thing firmly turned off. The pain stick came out. John damn near gave in, but Allison quickly gave the ‘okay’ signal from her prone position on the floor.

Damn. The medical doc was being so damned _brave_. If she could do it, John could too. He could practically _see_ Allison’s faith in him shining in her eyes. Much as that misplaced faith _burned_, John was determined to try to live up to it. He glowered steadily at Athena, who snorted,

“You Tau’ri won’t be so superior when I’ve removed your advantage over the galaxy.”

Wait what? _What_ advantage?

Athena smirked, “Yes Hok’tar or not, you’re _nothing_ without the technology you’ve _stolen_. I shall reclaim it and _take_ your world.”

That was rich, coming from a snake. John knew enough about the history of the Milky Way to know the Goa’uld were infamous scavengers.

Athena looked expectantly between the two of them, then angrily stormed out of the lab.

“Hey, Doc. Remember?” John hummed a few bars of that pop song.

Allison looked more concerned than John figured his current state should account for. John hastily signed that it was the go-signal, and her expression cleared some but not entirely. Eh, close enough. Between Vala’s noxious chemicals and the way Athena was every bit as arrogantly stupid as the reports had led John to believe, it couldn’t be long now before they had an opening.

***~

MSgt Greer couldn’t believe he’d gone from sorting out an invasion, to guard duty at Area 51. They must have been desperate if they trusted someone with his spotty history with upstart officers. Then again, Greer still couldn’t believe that he’d ended up working with a bunch of zoombags. He hoped this was just a TDY due to the utter clusterfuck at the SGC. When Ronald agreed to join the special access project that was the Stargate Programme, it had been because they’d told him it would be an excellent career path.

Guard duty at nerd central didn’t feel like a step up from his previous duties at Afghanistan. Nor a particularly useful way to spend his time after the invasion. But… Needs must. Greer was one of the few who’d been at the SGC who was confirmed _not_ to have been whammied.

Signs of the attack on Area 51 were visible all over the place, scorch marks from energy weapons, and bullet scores littered the hallways. Hell, in a sense, _he_ was proof of the attack. They’d trebled the security detail in its wake.

Despite what people tended to think about NCO’s, let alone enlisted m_arines_, Ronald wasn’t an unintelligent guy. He’d turned down a scholarship in order to enlist and go make a difference in the world. So, yeah, he could tell that the efficient alertness of his fellow guards here was pure _bullshit_.

No guards paid more attention to their jobs, then guards who’d just failed.

And that was this lot to a tee.

Tacos who’d gooned up the lot of them.

Greer tried not to sneer too obviously at the pompous ‘efficiency’ of the others. This was still an important job, if not one that anyone particularly wanted. The shit they were protecting here at Alien Central was dangerous, the work the scientists were doing important, if not exactly glamorous. Still he hoped it was TDY, and not a PCS. He’d done his job at Cheyenne that day, which was more than he could say about a lot of people.

Ronald swallowed down the all too familiar anger that boiled up. No, it wasn’t useful, not here, not now. Chain the rage, control it, don’t let it control you. Only let it out when it’d be an advantage, not a dangerous fucking liability. Greer breathed out through his nose and tried not to make it too obvious that he was people watching. It wasn’t just the guards. Everyone was nervous. There was a tension in the air, an atmosphere that pervaded the whole base. The scientists were anxious. It was all building to something, and no one could say what. Greer hoped they’d find their missing people.

He’d heard the scuttlebutt, the missing ranged from a member of SG-1 and that infamous zoomie that divided opinions at the SGC (half the Marines he’d talked to were convinced Sheppard was some kind of superman, the other half convinced that he was a glorified cult of personality figurehead, a dirtbag airman who was only tolerated because he let his garrison get away with murder), to a whole bunch of rookie science staff that a whole lot of people were convinced were already dead.

It rubbed his NCO inclinations up the wrong way, that urge to protect, make sure his people safe at whatever cost. He’d interacted with the FGO, in a limited fashion, Sheppard seemed an alright kind of guy. Worn down by the weight of the command the brass weren’t letting him take care of, Greer recognised the sentiment, even as he’d ruefully thought he’d probably never work out which end of the scuttlebutt he agreed with. Greer didn’t quite eat, sleep, and breathe the Marine Corps the way many probably thought he did, but, well. He’d stopped men in platoons he’d overseen in the past from doing the old haze the new guys by literally branding USMC into their skin trick. Greer put up with enough of that shit from dear old dad to want his men doing that to each other. He’d recognised the signs of a fellow commander who wouldn’t put up with that sort of shit from his people in Sheppard.

Discreetly Ron watched as the _other _Sheppard and Mitchell ambled past. The civilian brother was looking stressed out, the stiff lines of his shoulders and the downturned line of his mouth spoke loudly enough of that. Mitchell seemed oblivious. Then again, Greer always thought the SG-1 Colonel was fairly naïve that way.

The guy tended to take people at face value, read their masks, not their realities.

Yeah, Sheppard was hurting all right, cooped up here in the vastness of the desert, waiting for any word of his brother.

Ronald recognised the expression on Sheppard’s face, it was the same one his mom wore every time he went home for a visit after he’d signed up. That blankness that was desperately trying to be neutral, yet falling far short of it. For the longest time Ron had been convinced that the expression was disapproval, anger at his life choices, disappointment that he’d followed in his dad’s footsteps. Of the two of them, Ron’s mom had never condemned Ronald’s father for his misplaced anger, he should have realised sooner. It wasn’t disapproval that made her actions jerky, it wasn’t anger that made her clench her jaw, and it certainly wasn’t disappointment that meant she struggled to meet his eyes.

No, the expression on David Sheppard’s face was _fear_.

Deeply masked, subsumed by other coping mechanisms yes, but it was the same fear Greer’s mom would never voice in his presence. The fear that one day he wouldn’t come home. Ronald wondered if Colonel Sheppard had worked that out yet. That’s if the guy was still out there.

***~

“Ah, good.”

Rush stumbled as Athena’s men threw him to the floor, he didn’t bother to pick himself up, what would be the fucking point? The idiots would only throw him down again.

The loathsome woman seemed to expect him to respond. Fuck her. After a beat of silence, Athena continued as if she hadn’t paused,

“Now I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”

“Not especially no.”

Rush sent her a smile that was all teeth and knives. She glared.

“The data you pulled from Colson was useless. Since you cannot be trusted to behave. I shall be using your friends as incentive.”

“You’ve already done that.” Nick bit out, not bothering the hide the contempt, Vala… What had happened to Vala because of him was utterly unforgivable. Even if she somehow found it within herself to forgive him, Rush didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself.

“Oh, no, not _just_ that.”

“What?”

Nick felt the blood drain from his face. No.

“All that time you wasted breaking into Colson was _useless_, there was nothing there!”

Athena was clearly caught up on this perceived failure. Irrational fury was the name of the day.

“I repeat. How the _fuck_ is that supposed to be _my_ fault?!”

“Until you prove you can be trusted,” She met his eyes, he expected she thought the repetition would train him, like a fucking dog, “you shall not be allowed respite. I will keep punishing your cohorts. I want you to acknowledge that any further harm that befalls them is your fault Nicholas.”

Vala was paraded through, looking like a shrivelled-up prune. The thugs toeing her along looked to be the only things keeping her upright. Nick stared at her greedily, trying to soak in every detail. As if burning the impression of her, haggard, yet _alive_, into his brain would make the situation somehow permanent.

“Mal Doran, clean. _Now_.”

Nick watched heart in his mouth as Vala knelt down, and clearly struggling, belabouredly began to scrub at the floor.

The witch clicked her fingers at one of the interchangeable thugs that lined the room,

“Now, your _other_ punishment. I _know_ you’re dragging your feet with Devlin Medical. You’ve acquired _nothing_. You will not fail me again.”

Nick didn’t bother to call out Athena’s absolute fucking idiocy, there was nothing to find. Or rather Athena hadn’t disclosed what he was supposed to be fucking searching for, and apparently Rush hadn’t fucking found it. Though honestly, he’d gotten the accursed woman access to the company’s fucking internal database, if there was nothing there, then there wasn’t anything _to_ find.

The thug returned, Nick hadn’t even noticed he’d left, too caught up panicking about what was happening to Vala.

Oh.

The realisation was like a shower of ice.

Nick was to experience what Vala had been put through on his behalf.

Surrounded by four men, in shackles and chains, with a metal glove welded to his hand, was the wraith. Presumably, it was Todd, the wraith Sheppard somehow allied himself with. The way the other man relayed that misadventure in the labs, all falsely casual cheer, had revealed far more than Nick suspected Sheppard had wanted to.

Nick read loathing on the alien’s face, as he allowed himself to be dragged over to Nick’s prone position on the floor. The alien tilted his head mockingly as Athena made her usual imperious set of demands, body language implying that Todd could simply decline to do as he was fucking well told any time he liked, Todd casually placed his hand on Nick’s chest.

Nick had seen what happened to Vala. He sucked in air, trying not to hyperventilate, not swallow too obviously.

It was every bit as terrible as his imagination had it. A visceral soul-deep wound, as deep as the sucking hole left by Gloria’s passing.

The wraith was the only thing holding him upright. Through the rushing in his ears Nick heard,

“No, no. Unfortunately, I can’t _keep_ him in that state. He needs all his faculties intact to do the work. Undo it.”

Afterwards, once the cycle of unending ecstasy and agony was over, as they pulled his uncooperative carcass towards Athena’s lab, Rush figured he couldn’t get more fucking on edge.

He was wrong.

Sheppard was there, beaten black and blue. The guards using the fucking pain stick as both a club, and for its more usual hateful function. Another man was screaming for them to stop, he was being ignored. Rush helplessly met his eyes as he was pulled through to the corridor beyond.

“There your proof of life. Now, get on with it.”

“Get on with what?!” Rush hated the way his voice cracked, “Ye haven’t told me what the fuck ye want me to do ye mad cow!”

“I want you to finish with Devlin. Hurry up.”

Athena smiled archly at him, before he was dragged away back to his workroom, the tremors as whatever the fuck the wraith had done to him kicked in, only just starting. Right there, even under the suspicious gaze of Tweedlecunt, Nick knew he couldn’t keep going as he had been.

Time to apply P=NP to this crock of shite, there was clearly some sort of advanced computer system running the place, and Nick _had _a computer. Albeit one with nothing on it. Covertly Nick started piecing together the coding to break out of the crippled desktop, and into the building around him.

***~

James side-eyed her ‘team’, she couldn’t work out how she’d gone from complete newbie, to escorting Doctor Jackson off-world in the space of a couple of months. But… Well, given the number of teams currently off-world hunting for clues about _how_ the Lucian Alliance pulled off their attack. It was all hands-on deck.

As it was, Vanessa was incredulous that _she_ was working with the legendary archaeologist, and civilian lead on SG-1 for more than a decade. She caught Teyla’s eye and ducked her head embarrassed by the quietly amused look the Athosian shot her way. Okay, yeah, so sue her, she was just a blue-collar gal from Pittsburgh who’d somehow managed to get a senatorial commendation to the academy. Then, after getting tapped for AFSOC, she’d gotten tapped for the SGC. Wasn’t her fault she’d bought into the hype.

Teyla was alright. The Pegasus native was just damned cool about this whole traipsing around the Milky Way thing. Probably because to her, this sort of thing _was_ a walk in the park.

Jackson managed to get word out to one of Mal Doran’s more reliable contacts, James hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be yet another Lucian Alliance stooge. Given the little band of criminals they’d all happily ignored just proved they were capable of presenting a threat on par with any System Lord… Well, Vanessa figured she had a right to be feeling antsy about all this.

“Caius!”

Jackson called out to a rotund guy with a beard. James was relieved when the big guy’s response was genuinely warm, after their last few run ins with the LA, she hoped he was what he seemed.

“Daniel! Welcome welcome! What can I do for you today? Any more obsolete power coils you want to trade for my services?”

“Yes… About that.”

James watched as Jackson’s expression scrunched up in distaste.

“Look, we need to hire you and your ship and… well, have you got any intel on the Lucian Alliance’s activities that might interest us?”

James resisted the urge to groan, legendary member of SG-1 or not, this was _not_ how you were supposed to start a trade. Vanessa could practically see the dollar signs glinting in the guy’s eyes. From the exasperated expression Teyla pointedly _wasn’t_ wearing, James had a suspicion the Athosian was even more unimpressed than she was. Satterfield seemed unconcerned, but then again, the Captain was more geek than soldier.

By a series of negotiations James was not entirely able to follow, and she suspected was actually an _unbelievably_ bad deal on their end, from the smug air Caius was radiating by the end of it… They ended up renting the services of the guy’s souped up Tel’tak, in exchange for a suitcase full of Naquadah. (And bizarrely a handful of 5th Avenue candy bars Jackson produced from a pouch in his tac vest.)

Deal finally struck, they followed Vala’s old friend to the shipyards, where the unimpressive Goa’uld vessel was docked.

“Come in! Come in! Any friend of Vala’s.”

Jackson’s dry, “Yes, that’s why you demanded such high rates.” Only earned a guffaw of laughter.

Another incredulous look shared with Teyla over Jackson’s _utter_ lack of negotiating skills, and the little cargo vessel made its way into hyperspace. Satterfield was nearly vibrating with the urge to start taking apart consoles, James could tell.

“So, you’ll be wanting to go to an Alliance controlled world.”

“Yes,” Jackson replied evenly, “As discussed, preferably one controlled by the Sixth House.”

Caius whistled, “Woo! You Tau’ri sure know how to pick your enemies.”

Teyla was the one who asked,

“What do you mean Caius?”

“Well… You know, Sixth House. That’s one mean lady they’ve got in charge of their operations these days.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, name of Kiva. She’s one ruthless wench. I think a Goa’uld ever made the mistake of trying to take _her_ as host? The symbiote would be _trying_ to escape and she wouldn’t let it!”

Caius chuckled loudly at his own joke,

“Alright then folks. I think I know just the place. Sixth uses it as an agri planet, so security there shouldn’t be that tight.” He ran a leering eye over Teyla’s habitual Athosian dress, “And with your _excellent_ disguises you’ll fit right in.”

Teyla shot the guy a look, if he any sense he’d be protecting his crown jewels right about now. But Caius had already turned his attention back to the Tel’tak’s controls.

***~

Jake tried to get Sheppard to talk to him. Unlike Jake, who was getting dumped back with the others each day, they were deliberately leaving the guy in the lab day and night. O’Neill at least got the ‘respite’ of going back to see the others in their cells. (Though with Felger in there, it was far from restful.)

He had no idea why they’d been taken.

Oh, Jake knew it was something to do with gatebuilders who kept leaving their creepy headgrabbing tech everywhere, just as when Loki did _this _to him and turned his whole life inside out. But… Felger certainly didn’t have any ability to turn on Ancient tech, so he couldn’t have the ‘_ATA’_ gene, as all the SGC people seemed to call it now. Palmer insisted they’d grabbed a whole lab full of scientists from Area 51 since she’d recognised people when they’d first gotten dragged in and stripped of anything that could be used to escape.

It was an exercise in frustration trying to plan any sort of escape with this shower. The scientists alone ranged from incompetently trying too hard to help (Felger), to belligerently unhelpful (Franklin), and that was ignoring the decline of Sgt Spencer. There was something going on with that guy, more than the stress of captivity.

O’Neill didn’t want to think about the varied and painful states Sheppard cycled through. On the one hand Sheppard’s ability to keep schtum in the face of that kind of treatment warmed his twisted shrivelled black ops heart. On the other, Jake was quietly horrified about just what that must _mean_ about the guy. Jake figured he was either a rock, or secretly completely utterly batshit _insane_. No matter what state he was in when Jake got dragged to the labs, Sheppard _always_ greeted Athena with the same cool disdain, and rude quip.

Worse, Sheppard used their mutual time in Athena’s torture chamber as an intel exchange. Sheppard had clearly taken it upon himself to be the relay between the disparate groups of prisoners in the Goa’uld compound, ship, _place_.

Sheppard had taken to humming a few bars from that awful eighties pop tune whenever he reiterated the mass breakout plan. Jake figured it was a painfully obvious signal, but Athena seemed happy to believe it was a sign she was breaking him down.

Jake _still_ hadn’t worked out what the compound was yet. He’d been here forever. The walls were that bright faux gold _all_ snakeheads favoured, no matter which aspect of Earth culture they were claiming, _and_ every now and again Jake felt the rumbling he associated with being onboard a Goa’uld mothership. But… it wasn’t right. The place was too quiet. Run down. The architecture was weird too. Goa’uld alright, the corridors the usual weird angles and strange shapes that spoke of ship functions, rather than aesthetics – but, no. Jake couldn’t put his finger on it.

He forced himself to pay attention, instead of zone out, when Sheppard used spec ops signals to convey he was waiting to gain contact with _yet_ another group of prisoners onboard. This one numbering in the low teens. Three separate groups. Just how many of their people had this bitch caught?

O’Neill watched beadily as, post a session with the painstick, post refusing to turn on the ancient doodad, Sheppard signalled that Jake should prep for an escape. Jake shot the guy a truly unimpressed look at that bit of reiteration, he may _look_ like a brat these days, but he wasn’t one.

Besides, it was a job and a half to keep the guys back in the cells in line. Felger and Spencer kept wanting to stage a breakout there and then, conveniently forgetting that if this thing was to have any hope of working, _all_ the groups of captives would need to act at once.

Jake half-heartedly tried to turn on the doodad when Athena shoved it under his nose. It glowed sluggishly, but that was the most response he’d gotten out of it. Honestly, from the way Sheppard was obviously straining something _not_ to turn it on every time it was waved in his face, Jake wasn’t sure if his own growing ambivalence to disobedience was a good thing or not.

Despite the flutter of light that proved he’d been _trying_, Jake got the painstick to the stomach for his troubles.

Athena left, throwing a look of contempt over her shoulder. Sheppard surprised him with,

“Embrace the suck.”

Jake scowled, “What are you, a _marine_?”

Jake worriedly listened to Sheppard’s too slow reply,

“Hey! Wha- no… I suppose I’ve just been hanging around too many of them lately. My garrison is mostly Marine Corps. Well, those parts that aren’t international.”

Jake absorbed that new information and squirreled it away for later analysis. Sheppard was heading up an international contingent? With the SGC? Just what were they doing these days? 

Sheppard seemed to come back from wherever he’d drifted off to this time, with newfound urgency he gestured at Jake, and when he was sure he had Jake’s attention said,

“Orange Mocha Frappuccinos.”

A few more bars of that awful 80s song again.

“_What_?!”

Sheppard signed, ‘go signal.’

“…Right.”

Sheppard flashed a grin,

“You’ll know when the time comes. On account of all the explosions.”

Athena’s voice echoed around the room, Jake looked up in a panic but the snakehead was nowhere to be seen. It was some kind of tannoy,

_“Jaffa! Fetch the artificial ATA holder!”_

Sheppard perked up at that, “Think you can find out if that was heard all over?”

“Sure…?”

“Talking I see?” Athena waltzed back in. The green guy hadn’t even _tried_ to warn them, bastard.

“Oh yeah,” Sheppard drawled, “Just plotting our uprising.”

Jake winced, but Athena merely looked superior.

“Turn it on.”

The doodad was back. Jake hesitated, but grabbed it and got the same sickly green glow he’d managed last time. Athena backhanded him,

“Pathetic!”

Jake’s head ached, Athena raised her hand again, he tried not to cringe away.

“Hey, bitch, at least he’s _trying_. I keep telling the damned thing to stay off.”

No. No that _idiot_.

Jake woozily signed, ‘stop’ but Sheppard either didn’t see, or more likely, ignored him entirely.

“No wonder it won’t turn on. I’ve got the most experience with this stuff. I know how to kill it.”

Athena gave a wordless snarl, then lashed out with the painstick. Sheppard writhed, only letting out a harsh cry when she rapidly jabbed the crackling red energy into the base of his neck. Looking nastily satisfied, Athena called,

“Jaffa! Take this useless Tau’ri away, then fetch the others. Sheppard has earned another round of death.”

_Another_ round? Oh god, she was using a _sarcophagus_?

Jake saw Sheppard’s bloody grin, and the hand signs flashing ‘wait go fire’ as he was hauled away.

***~

Entering the brig cautiously, Sam stopped and stared down Simeon, the seemingly helpful Sixth House second who was obligingly giving them all the intel they asked for. Sam didn’t buy it. The guy’s happy happy ‘I’m so friendly me!’ act wasn’t a scratch on Jack’s, and she’d served alongside him for years. Besides, the other alliance members gave away the act for what it was – of everyone locked in the make-shift brig, Simeon and Dannic were the pair everyone else kept shooting nervous glances towards. If Varro were here, he’d likely be in charge. But, he was still handcuffed to a gurney in the infirmary.

Simeon watched her like a predator homing in on prey. It made the hair on the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably. Crap. Sam knew trouble when she smelt it, and Simeon was it.

Sam made the effort to look unaffected by his posturing. A moment later, as they’d agreed, Ronon stepped in. He towered over the largest of the Lucian Alliance members. Even Dannic took a step back. Sam could picture the expression on Ronon’s face all too well. 

The Satedan really shouldn’t be up. The burns that scored his back were serious. Sam thanked her lucky stars again that the _Hammond_ had more than its fair share of medical staff, as well as Dr Brightman, she had Dr Simms, who’d been due to become the Chief Medical Officer on the 9 Chevron Project any day now, and Lt Johansen. Dex wasn’t letting any of his pain show. At least Sam hoped it was his stoic front, rather than a heavy dose of painkillers, third degree burns were risky precisely because you _couldn’t_ feel your damage. 

Sam asked the relevant question,

“Anyone here know anything about Ha’tak hyperdrives?”

Sure enough Dannic looked murderous, but Simeon earned just as many nervous glances by merely sitting there.

The mousey red head stepped forward,

“I can help.”

Simeon was the one who went poker-faced. Dannic moved as if to step forward, Ronon smiled back. Well, _smiled_, the one thing Sam could say about the expression was all his teeth were showing.

“Anyone else?”

“What do you need the help for?” A tall black-haired woman, who reminded Sam uncomfortably of Kiva stepped forward.

Sam relayed the dire news, “If we don’t harvest spare parts from the floating hulk in the debris field within a few hours we’re all dead.”

There were disbelieving scoffing noises.

“Dead?” The woman asked.

“Yes dead. Your little stunt with that virus in the breaching pod fried several critical systems. Including shields. My workaround is holding, but when it fails? And it _will_ fail. That pulsar is going to kill us all. If that doesn’t get us? We’re going to run out of air, soon.”

Dannic still looked thoroughly psychotic, he was obviously too focused on plotting revenge on Ronon than actually listening to the current situation. Simeon _was_ paying attention, and he gave a subtle nod and hand gesture.

The woman gave him a narrow-eyed glare, as if to say she didn’t need his permission,

“Tasia, I’m one of Kiva’s seconds.” Tasia turned to the room and called out, “Ginn, Olan. Help the Tau’ri.”

The red headed woman, and a nervous looking man stepped forward.

Sam met her gaze gratefully, “Thank you.”

***~

Vala never thought she’d be grateful to a Wraith for anything. And yet here she was, revelling in her newfound health. Even if it was an altogether artificial sensation. The guilt nagged, Gardner was currently enduring old age. Her fellow ex-host looked decidedly geriatric as they worked side-by-side cleaning the out of the way storage room the Jaffa dumped them in today.

Vala wished she and Gardner had access to the prisoners’ levels of the ship, but no. They were confined to the barracks levels, admittedly it gave them access to Rush and the oh so crucial chemical concoctions, that with their combined skills as a conwoman and an art historian, they were doing a decent job of converting to explosives if Vala did say so herself. But… Their current inability to get that crucial information about just _where_ everyone else was stuck in her craw.

Sheppard was… No, Vala refused to think about that. In the times Vala and Gardner had been forced to clean the lab, Vala had seen him run the gamut from insane off the high of sarcophagus abuse, to literally beaten into the ground. She didn’t know how much longer he could take this, Vala didn’t know how much longer _she_ could take seeing him like this.

Berating herself for ruminating on this stuff when she should be trying to distract Sarah from her current decrepitude, Vala forcefully scrubbed at the floor, and slipped with the excessive pressure she’d applied.

Vala scuffed her knee painfully against something sharp edged on the floor.

Still bleeding she scrubbed angrily at whatever had cut her, then gasped. Was it?

No. Surely not.

“Sarah,” Vala called quietly.

“Yes?”

“Tell me this is what I think it is.”

Doctor Gardner hesitantly knelt, wincing all the way, and gently shifted some of the grime.

“Careful. We don’t want anyone to know we’ve found thi-“

“Found what?” Recognition dawned. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

Silently they both backed away from the hidden ring platform. Gardner located the control panel. It was in the exact opposite position Vala had been expecting. Recognising the expression on Vala’s face Gardner smiled ruefully,

“I told you Osiris was into these older Ha’taks.”

Vala grinned back. All teeth.

“Shall we?”

Gardner acted as the voice of reason,

“Do you think they’ll get a signal when we activate it?”

Vala hesitated with her hands over the control panel,

“It can’t hurt to try.”

She pressed the button.

The point was moot. The controls were locked.

“Fuck!” Gardner swore under her breath.

“We need to unlock it.” Vala typed in a few Goa’uld favourites she remembered Qetesh quietly obsessing over, nothing.

“Let me try.”

Vala stepped back and kept watch as Gardner typed in a variant of the Golden Ratio. Ba’al’s balls! That one should have worked. The damned Goa’uld were all obsessed with that number.

“Damn. Good idea. It must be _something_ along those lines.”

“Yeah the snakes are obsessed with their holy numbers.”

“Gorgeous will be able to work it out.”

“Gorgeous?”

“Yes.”

~***

Biro was one of many SGC-read-in medical doctors who received tissue samples from Colonel Dixon’s corpse, but she’d been the only one who’d spotted the abnormal folding in the protein in the man’s spinal fluid. Samples taken from the victims of the invasion and Colonel Coburn’s corpse confirmed it. Every sample they took from a known brainwashing victim contained traces.

However, the volumes of spinal fluid needed to _detect_ anything were… dangerous. Despite the risks Teal’c volunteered, and under the C-13 NMR scans, and SEM his lumbar fluid contained traces of the misfolded protein, but the Jaffa was basically at his previous baseline. 

Theoretically all it would take was a lumbar tap, and you’d know whether your patient was a Za’tarc or not. Of course, the _amount_ of spinal fluid needed for an assay was inimical to life. Eventually Mindy worked out that 33S NMR required a slightly smaller sample to find a positive peak. But it still required an extremely risky amount of spinal fluid if the subject was living.

Lam argued that regardless of the volume required, a lumbar tap was no picnic, soft touch that the terse woman secretly was. Mindy bit back that the one in three deathrate for the rite of Mal’sharran was hardly any better, and the other woman shut up. They’d work out how to do these tests on living subjects eventually. Mindy _had_ felt a momentary warning twinge from her ill-used and rusty social skills at that accidental rudeness; the other doctor looked as if she’d been gutted by that reminder.

Mindy sighed, there was a reason she and Albert Rosenfield were such good friends, even with the extreme long-distance pen pal situation, and the mutually classified nature of their jobs. Her fellow pathologist had similar issues relating to the non-pathologist segments of humanity. Though in _his_ case the frequent misunderstandings about his peculiar brand of pacifism usually resulted in bruises. (At least Mindy didn’t share Alexx Woods special brand of weirdness, as ill-fitting as Biro was with much of humanity, even she balked at her fellow pathologist’s… eccentricities in the treatment of her charges. Though admittedly most of her fellows were somewhat strange, Ducky Mallard was the _least_ of the weirdness among Mindy Biro’s peers.)

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Lanteans that Carson and Keller hadn’t been invited to join the brainstorming session, or even recalled to base for their own safety. Still, Biro’s contribution to the effort to get the SGC back on its feet was gratefully received. The base under NORAD might go from more than fifty personnel locked away in the isolation levels to zero, once they found a testing method.

It took several rounds of lumbar taps to acquire enough fluid for a thorough assay of Dr Caine’s and Colonel Edwards’ spinal fluid. Edwards at least volunteered, Caine on the other hand still frothed wildly at the mouth. Both of their living patients were looking rather rough around the edges when they found it.

Coburn’s sample had degraded too much. The biopsy samples were a revelation, the mis-folded protein they found in the people who’d been dragged under by the grenade was subtly different to the variety in Colonel Dixon’s and Dr Caine’s tissues. They weren’t anywhere near being able to release everyone quarantined within the SGC. But it was progress.

Biro suspected when the next round of testing was carried out in a couple of weeks, their grenade-manufactured Za’tarcs would have returned to normal. The levels of the simpler misfolded protein in Edwards were _much _lower than those in poor Doctor Caine. Mindy theorised the grenade’s mysterious energy waves induced a large burst of misfolded protein to be produced by the victim’s brain in an instant. Whereas the classical Za’tarc’s own physiology was induced to self-sustainingly continue manufacturing the warped structure, long-after external influences were removed, over a course of several hours.

Those Za’tarcs the SGC managed to free never were clear about what the physical side of the process entailed. The generalised amnesia was concerning, though she _was_ a pathologist Mindy largely agreed with her colleagues that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

The lumbar test was far from an ideal solution. Without probable cause, even the SGC balked at ordering their personnel to undergo an invasive and potentially dangerous test as a matter of course, however it was a step in the right direction.

Of course, quite aside from the volume issue, the danger of the tap came from the fact that one of the few known physical symptoms of being a Za’tarc, aside from a sudden willingness to murder your own mother and be proud of it, was on the vanishingly short list of contraindications to the procedure.

By its very nature becoming a Za’tarc ran the risk of increased intracranial pressure, though frustratingly the symptom wasn’t present reliably enough to be used as an indicator, and had enough _other_ potential causes that no one had ever seriously considered using it as one. But still, it _was_ progress.

Mindy was sure someone else would be able to work out the practicalities of using this information. She’d only discovered the misfolded protein by assaying the _entirety_ of the spinal fluid in Colonel Dixon’s corpse. The misfolded protein was subtle enough it was extremely difficult to detect. The protein’s peak nearly lost in the signal noise of the NMR process. Now, Biro could only hope someone would work out how to reliably _use_ the information.

***~

A thin blonde with a head full of curls was thrown bodily into the lab,

“I want to make it quite clear to you Sheppard; your little team aren’t the only people you’re protecting. This wretch was Osiris’s host for several years.”

“Good for her.”

John automatically called out sarcastically, ignoring the pained wince the woman gave at Athena’s gleeful infodump.

“The ungrateful wretch is responsible for _Osiris’s_ death.”

“And why am I supposed to care?”

Athena snarled at him and kicked angrily at the woman who’d been thrown into the lab. John watched the woman tremble on the floor. She was putting on a hell of a good front, but she looked just as worn down as John felt. Feeling the need to deflect Athena’s attention away from her, John rhetorically asked,

“Now, why don’t I believe you?” John sing-songed mockingly, earning himself a slap. It slammed his head into the grating painfully. Gardner shot him a mutely grateful look for the distraction.

“Now, ex-host, earn your keep.” The threat was smilingly issued, “I’ve got a spare you know.”

Athena shoved a dirty rag at the woman, who had the backbone to scowl angrily, before picking the thing up off the floor. It was probably cleaner than John, but only barely. She hesitantly moved closer to John. Disguising the motion of his head by pretending to further slump into his bonds, John murmured into her ear,

“You part of Doc Porter’s group? With Doc Lindsay?”

To John’s gratified surprise, she didn’t show any clue that she’d heard him, just continued cleaning around the hated tendrils. She murmured back,

“Yeah. Doctor Gardner.”

“How many?”

“Ten of us. There’s at least one other group though – I’ve seen them.”

“Yeah I’d heard.”

“I’ve got the run of the barracks.”

“Look, we need to work together. To get out.”

“Agreed. I’m usually with Vala. We can get around, plant stuff.”

“Oh good.” John hissed back, chagrined that he’d thought he was so central to all this.

“Fire right?”

John hummed a little of ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’ at her before replying, “Yeah.”

“Great.”

The vehemence in her tone almost had John smirking back at her, which would have been a mistake, given that he was still facing Athena’s way.

“Tell Vala she’ll know when it’s Orange Mocha Frappuccino time on account of us locating that final group of prisoners.”

Gardner blinked, taken aback. John could tell when she got it. The wry slant to her mouth was half amused half frustrated,

“Tell me why it’s longer than the actual word?”

“I’ll let Vala fill you in.”

Nervily Gardner edged closer, in the guise of cleaning up the excess filth that surrounded him. John was beyond embarrassment at this point, his fetid situation was a thing being done _to_ him rather than his responsibility. Gardner scrubbed away some of the muck on the floor, and hissed,

“We’ve found a ring platform. But we’re locked out.”

“Huh.”

“I- _we_ think the key will be a standard Goa’uld obsession, they worship real numbers as sacred and abhor irrational numbers with instinctive horror. Well. I remember, Osiris did, Vala says Qetesh was the same. But they both loved the Golden Ratio.”

With a level of familiarity that, if he’d thought about it for more than a few moments, John would have been surprised by, Gardner rattled off the Golden Ratio (as if John didn’t know it.) and then listed off the layout of the lock-out screen. It couldn’t be as simplistic as Pi could it?

“We’re getting the information to Rush too. But you’re ‘fair fucking good at mathematics’ yourself. You should know what’s going on. We found a way-out Sheppard. It’s just a matter of time.”

John’s mind was already puzzling over the math, perhaps a bubble cypher? Something that maintained the Goa’uld’s apparent fascination with the naturally occurring numbers. John hummed a little of Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go at Gardner. She nodded.

“We just need to get organised,” John grinned, “Then Orange Mocha Frappuccinos all round.”

“Oh good. I’m so _glad_ that you’ve bonded.” Athena’s voice cut across the moment like a knife, “Shol’va. It’s time for me to finish comparing Tau’ri dogs to Stella via mongrels.”

Gardner’s eyes widened in momentary panic, before she got ahold of herself. Unlike John she clearly knew what was about to happen next.

It clicked when Athena clicked her fingers imperiously and Todd was hauled out. Gardner was shoved into a chair. John strained fruitlessly against his bonds,

“Dammit, Athena don’t do this!”

Athena grinned maliciously, and Todd, with every sign of regret lowered his feeding hand to Gardner’s chest. She bravely stared up at him, until the feeding began, and her screams echoed around the lab. How could they keep looking to him for guidance when he was barely keeping it together? John forced himself to bare witness, but was shamefully grateful when Athena had her hauled away.

_***~_

Sam eyed the tactical map with a wary eye. Everyone that needed treatment was firmly ensconced in the infirmary, including their injured …guests. After letting him out to intimidate Lucian Alliance members Johansen judiciously dosed Ronon with sedatives once it became clear the big man wouldn’t heed medical advice otherwise. If he kept moving around, those third-degree burns scoring his shoulder blades would never heal.

Aside from the two scientists and the injured, the rest of their invaders were, ironically enough, holed up under guard in the same storage room more than a third of her crew had been caught in.

She’d run a scan of the _Hammond_ over the internal sensors. Thankfully there were no extraneous life forms to account for. Between their losses and their additional Alliance guests the numbers added up. (Though the fact that the crew count was eight fewer than it had been at the beginning of this mess burned in Sam’s gut.)

Novak had found the time to fix most of the software damage done by the breaching pod. The nasty piece of malware in the navigational computer that’d been used to steer it towards the _Hammond _that was so effective they’d initially believed they had a saboteur was now safely quarantined in a non-networked laptop so Sam could pick it apart at her leisure later. Lindsey managed kill the pod’s computer too, but they needed to work out if they should jettison the thing.

Unfortunately, their troubles weren’t over yet.

_Several_ of the control crystals had cracked. Not just the primary shield crystal, though that loss was bad enough.

Between Sam’s jury-rigged workaround to power the shields using several of the hyperdrive control crystals and the havoc the breaching pod wreaked, it was beginning to look unlikely the _Hammond_ would be moving anytime soon. At least not at speeds that wouldn’t take millennia to get back to Tau’ri controlled space.

Much to her chagrin, it was their Alliance guests who provided the solution.

“I can help.” Ginn volunteered again in the meeting as they pored over the tactical map, “If we don’t move quickly the last Ha’tak will fall into the gravity well of the gas giant, as we’ve agreed the first did, and there won’t be _any_ crystals to harvest.”

It was a valid point. Of the six ships that attacked them, three ships had been left behind in the pulsar system, inaccessible, if they hadn’t been vaporised. The three they’d left in the system of the initial ambush? One exploded spectacularly in the initial skirmish, another had been neatly holed, and before all the chaos the final ship _had_ been in low orbit above the gas giant.

The one that had been above the gas giant was gone, a new pattern of turbulence in the ring-like patterns of the planet’s atmosphere made it obvious what its fate had been.

The final Ha’tak had inexorably drifted closer to the gravity well of the huge planet, drawn in by the colassal mass that dominated all orbits in that sector of the solar system.

Lindsey nodded, “Ginn’s right, we’ll need to move quickly. I don’t like how close it is.”

“Yeah,” Marks agreed, “without parts this ship is going nowhere fast.”

“Let me help. I can show you precisely where to look for crystals, it’ll be quicker if I come along.”

Sam didn’t like it at all, but once again Dr Novak nodded enthusiastically,

“Your help would be welcomed.” Belatedly the captain remembered Sam was the senior officer in the room, “Uh, that is, if that’s okay with you sir.”

Sam shot Novak a pointed glare, but… Sam shot another glare Ginn’s way,

“Any funny business out there, you won’t just be condemning us to death, you’ll be dooming all your fellows too.”

For the first time since the hasty tactical meeting began, Olan spoke up, “They’re not really our fellows. We work for them. Or our families die.”

Ginn didn’t deny it, her jaw clenched, and her shoulders hunched, but not with anger at Olan.

Damn. That put an unpleasant spin on things. Sam was willing to bet if – _when_ \- they got home a significant proportion of their guests would be claiming asylum. From everything she’d heard over the years in the Milky Way, Sam was inclined to believe they’d need it. Dragging herself back to the matter at hand Sam said,

“Very well. Ginn we’ll welcome the assist. “ Sam nodded at Lindsey, ”Dr Novak, do you know what you need to do.”

The other woman looked steadily back at Sam,

“Yes colonel. I’ll get the parts, don’t worry. You just focus on getting life-support fully operational again.”

“Right, yes of course.” Sam said, chagrined. Of _course_ Novak knew what to do, the other woman knew just as much, if not more, about BC-304 systems than Carter did given she’d been the _Daedalus’_ chief engineer for years.

“Good luck Captain, you have a go.”

Sam went back to engineering and got back to her fried conduits. With bated breath Sam watched on the command monitor as the F-302 left the hangar bay and flew over to the drifting Ha’tak that was just beginning to scrape the atmosphere of the gas giant.

“Godspeed.”

This mission was risky as all hell for everyone involved. But if they didn’t do it, they’d suffocate to death out here. With so many critical systems completely wrecked, it was a choice between life support or sublights, and hyperdrives or shields. Neither was much of a choice at all.

Carter hoped their theories would hold up, and the Goa’uld crystals would be able to take the additional power flow Asgard systems required.

***~

John realised with a sinking heart that Athena had caught yet another expedition member, it was Doc Esposito, the Portuguese expert in computer systems whose job it was to work out just what the hell the Ancients had been thinking when they organised Atlantis’s database. John had a vague flash of Rodney embarrassing himself at the poor woman once or twice, before Keller came along.

Still, this was his chance. He’d never seen her here before, not like O’Neill 2.0, or Doc Palmer, or Doc Porter, or with Rush – she _must_ be part of that third group of prisoners they’d all been so worried about finding, she must be. This was what they’d all been waiting for.

Even as he was appalled at his own pragmatism, John was grateful she was a fellow Lantean. There was a shared language and history between all expedition members that should let him get his point across to her without getting caught. He hoped. John side-eyed Athena from his position forcibly hunched over the Ancient thingy he was strung up alongside.

The Goa’uld had decided forcing him into constant contact with the thing would get him to slip and activate it, but so far he’d succeeded with his litany of ‘Off.Off.Off,’ even as the device pressed uncomfortably up against his cheek trilled in his head like an overexcited puppy.

Doc Esposito looked appalled at the state of him. John couldn’t say he blamed her; he knew he wasn’t a pretty sight. And that was _with_ the bizarre detachment of a session in the sarcophagus. But, he had to relay this information. Whilst they had a chance. Before Athena wised up to the folly of shoving unknown Ancient tech his way, when, as far as the tech was concerned, he was practically a damned spineless Ancient himself.

Thanking his paranoia for what felt like the hundredth time, John rapidly flashed through the hand signals all members of the Expedition were forced to learn. The things were a bastard mix of AFSOC signalling, Force Recon signs, SAS signals, ASL, Satedan Specialist codes, Athosian hunting shorthand and, John hated to admit he _knew_ this was where the geeks got the idea, Clone Trooper hand signals from Star Wars.

Covertly he messaged,

_‘Escape soon. How many with you?’_

Rafaela messaged back jerkily, but intelligibly,

_‘Ten. Caught w. Sgt Ng and Mike Branton.’ _

She was forced to finger spell the names in ASL, but the slowed trickle of information stopped Athena noticing what they were doing, so John didn’t quibble the delay.

Rapidly John flashed back,

_‘Escape Attempt ASAP. Signal is lab fire. Acknowledge’_

John hummed a few bars of Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, watching out of the corner of his eye as Athena grinned maliciously at the established sign of his slip into ‘madness’. He’d never thought much of Wham, but if they got out of this, John promised himself he’d buy a whole Best Of album. John figured the Man in Black would forgive him the lapse into pop given the circumstances.

_‘Fire. Acknowledged. Good luck.’_

John turned and acknowledged her for the first time, it wouldn’t do to act completely suspicious this late in the game. As predicted, Athena backhanded him as soon as he dared turn his head away from the Ancient device he was strapped in front of.

Esposito flinched violently, making Athena laugh delightedly.

“Oh how fun! Do you know each other?”

“No.” John bit out.

Rapidly Rafaela proved that she was a first-class liar, in a thick accent John _knew _she was exaggerating for effect, having heard her perfect American diction, she babbled,

“I’ve only seen Colonel Sheppard around the base. We, us people who work on the database don’t really interact with others, tass cuul. Though he is giro, sim?”

Athena backhanded the doc, sending her sprawling to the floor.

“Shut up with your ridiculous Tau’ri babble!”

Esposito glared up at her, “I can’t work like this! You want miracles but you do not let us near the information. You do not let us collaborate! Vai pró caralho!”

Athena raised a threatening hand, the gem in her palm glowed red,

“Enough!”

“Cuna!”

Esposito spat at her feet. John hadn’t known the European expedition member had it in her. Athena used the defiance as the excuse that it was and gave the doc a painful blast with the hand device. As Esposito was hauled to the far end of the lab, she shot John a final message, before her hands were positioned in such a way that they were stuck with only the simpler military signals.

_‘We’ll be ready.’_

***~

“Lindsey! Get out of there! That’s an order!”

“I need one more minute Colonel.”

“_Captain_ Novak,” Sam emphasised the rank, “the ship is breaking up around you now. You don’t have a minute!”

“If I don’t do this, none of us will Colonel.”

“Doctor Novak!” Sam hadn’t felt more impotent in a very long time.

A loud crash echoed over the open line.

“What? No? Ginn what the hell are you doing?”

“I have to do this.”

“Ginn no!”

A loud squeal of feedback painfully echoed over the line.

The radio cut out.

Had Sam just doomed them all by placing her trust in Ginn?

She slumped at the workstation, then whirled around to shoot a glare at Olan, the other Alliance scientist. He looked just as surprised as Sam felt. Either he was an exceptionally good actor, or… No, uncomfortably Olan reminded Sam far too much of Eldon, the brutalised scientist the Atlantis expedition had taken in during their second year, rescued from a prison colony.

Sam watched the symbol of the Ha’tak hopelessly on the monitor, Holy Hannah! She did not want more of her people to die today. Hadn’t space already claimed enough victims in this pointless contest with the Alliance?

The triangle that represented the Ha’tak winked out.

No!

That was it then.

They were done –

“Hope you’ve kept the bay doors open for us Colonel, we’re on our way back.”

Sam let go of all thoughts of disobeyed orders in the rush of relief,

“Come on home Captain. Well done.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten out of there if it wasn’t for Ginn, Sam. She’s a marvel.”

The quiet tones of the Lucian Alliance scientist were as timorous as ever, even over the comms,

“I had to do it Doctor Novak, the systems on the Ha’tak were heavily modif-“

“Yes you did, point is we both made it, and there’s crystals to spare.”

***~

He was shoved face first into the hated ancient device yet again, and Esposito was forced to grab her own random item. John recognised it as one of the mysterious boxes of smell that no one quite knew what to do with, or even what they were for. The real risk of the things was, whilst often there was no smell at all, or occasionally pleasant recognisable scents like freshly cut grass, or a sea breeze, all too often the wave of smell that wafted out was utterly revolting.

No one could decide if the revolting smells were deliberate, or a sign the devices had decayed in 10,000 years. John wondered if this one was another Bog of Eternal Stench in waiting.

“Well? Activate it.”

Esposito was one of the two dozen or so Expedition members who’d successfully taken to Carson’s gene therapy. John couldn’t quite make out the expression on her face, but he signalled it was ok to go ahead. At this point it barely mattered.

Athena leaned down avariciously, looking disturbingly like a kid on Christmas morning. The device glowed dimly, showing it was working, and the little mister extended. But beyond acting as a glorified nightlight, nothing happened.

Athena announced to the room at large,

“Now, Tau’ri scum,” she turned and looked pointedly at John, “you’ll see the cost for failure.”

“Hey! She turned it on. Not our fault it’s broken.”

Athena snarled angrily at him, distracted from Esposito. The doc stared gratefully back as the dead box of smell was greedily snatched away and stowed.

Shortly John found his hand lashed to the gaudy little bauble that was John’s constant torment. The damned vines annoyingly multipurpose, good for more than pinning him to the wall like a bug. John redoubled his chant of ‘off off off!’ but the persistent little piece of crap really _wanted_ to activate. He could feel it straining to do whatever the hell it did like a leashed dog.

Athena sniffed, “No matter. I anticipated your continued stubbornness.”

The barrier to Todd’s cell dropped, Athena’s Jaffa shoved the unresisting wraith forward. From the corner of his eye John watched Esposito blanch. Yeah. John’s spine was busy trying to flee out of his back, even as he knew there was no escaping this.

Todd was positioned in front of him and the weird cuff removed. The big guy didn’t even bother to snarl when Athena’s goons shoved him forward.

“Get on with it, wraith.”

John’s hand was still forcibly curled around the hated ancient device. He couldn’t do much more than twitch. Todd’s feeding hand met his sternum, and the by now familiar sensation of his life being sucked dry started. Distantly he heard a female voice screaming “Stop!” over the unbearable sensations wracking his body.

John barely noticed, what with the overwhelming agony of wraith feeding consuming every facet of his existence, but Athena jabbed the hated painstick John’s way. With a detached sense of horror, after all, all of John’s emotional credit was going on the here and now of his situation, John hazily realised he’d failed. The little sphere lit up.

The sensation of the unleashed ATA mechanism briefly whited out even the agony, and John was dragged into the interface.

Feeling completely cut off from what was going on, John realised the device was some kind of data storage unit. It was difficult to pay attention with the raw scream Todd was pulling from John’s very being. The two sensations warred for dominance, before the device sucked him under completely.

In front of John’s mind’s-eye a scene from Lantis’s past played out. He was utterly detached from his body. The impression of wraith feeding a distant tether to the real world. The familiar sight of one of Lantis’s conference rooms, complete with weirdass spare-scaffolding modular table overlaid itself on the lab.

A group of Ancienty looking guys in the usual beige-on-beige uniforms the stuck-up self-righteous assholes favoured were glaring at each other. The oldest most crotchety looking guy started speaking,

“Janus, how _dare_ you repeat this folly. The sheer level of arrogance to defy the council, not once, not twice but-“

John turned, the old guy was berating a surprisingly cheerful looking dude, all suspicious eye-twinkles and lanky frame,

“Oh yes Moros, and we all know how that worked out for Ganos Lai. It’s a betrayal of everything if we abandon our _descendants_ to this fate.”

The old guy wouldn’t budge,

“Interfering in the timeline is forbidden for a reason Janus.”

The newly named Janus glared contemptuously at Moros, “I know all about your hypocritical interference. Or did you think I was unaware of your… Sangraal and your knights? …_Myrrdin_?”

Moros’s eyes widened in alarm. Janus spun to the others in the room,

“Listen here High Council, our esteemed leader has broken the foremost of the precious rules he claims _I_ shirk.” Janus gave a death’s-head grin, “He’s _interfered_ so that the Once and Future King _shall_ return.”

Murmurs of shock rippled around the table, and the convened council turned on Moros. The scene faded away. A burst of Alteran gibberish streamed straight through John’s head, too fast to comprehend, it left John reeling with information overload.

Its purpose seemingly complete, the device went inert. John felt it die on a level that went deeper than that of mere biology. It overrode the distant relief that Todd had obviously stopped feeding.

“Activate it!” screamed Athena, “What did it do?”

The bitch scrabbled for the device turned paperweight, nearly dislocating a couple of John’s fingers as she wrenched it from his vine-enforced grasp. John didn’t bother to answer, the migraine the thing left him with was almost worse than the feeding had been. Strange ideas about time travel, Camelot, Caliburn, Excalibur, and how good an idea it would be to go looking for a lake followed him down into the dark.

***~

“What do you mean temporary reassignment sir?”

Landry gave him that fatherly look Cam hated.

“Son, you’re on light duty. And _only_ because you need to babysit the _other_ Sheppard.” Landry pulled a face that showed his distaste. Cam knew what he meant, though he was too polite to let it show. On screen Landry nodded pointedly towards Cam’s leg, “You know you shouldn’t be on duty at all.”

Cam sighed, “Yes sir.”

Landry’s voice did that growly thing Cam had come to associate with the general’s particular brand of unasked-for advice,

“Think of it as a paid vacation, get some rest.”

The frustration that’d made Cam call the general in the first place bubbled over,

“Whilst the SGC’s under siege sir?”

Now Landry sounded exasperated,

“Mitchell. The programme is the most secure place on the planet right now. We’ve just had an attack; security’s been stepped up so much I can’t _blow my nose_ without SFs storming my office. Can you think of somewhere better to stash Sheppard’s older, politically dangerous, brother?”

Cam hastily bit out a, “Nossir.”

Landry stared at him for a beat or two, expression gone strange.

“Since you called…” uh oh, Cam sat up straighter in his chair, “Son, I hate to ask this of you. But do you think I’ve been unfair on Sheppard?”

“Sir? We’ve only just met the guy.”

“No!” Landry scowled, Cam tried not to cringe, “Not _that_ Sheppard. _Lieutenant Colonel_ Sheppard.”

“Oh.”

Cam really didn’t know what to say.

“It’s recently come to my attention that my attitude towards Sheppard may have coloured how people on base have been treating him. And how he’s been reacting.”

Cam squirmed in his seat.

“And from the expression on your face, I think I have my answer. Thank you, Colonel.”

“Uh… sir… I never quite got why you took against him if that’s what you’re asking. I mean sure, he’s got a reputation as a maverick, but the Atlantis reports show it’s obviously unfair. Weir fought to keep him. _Sam_ loved him, and I _trust_ Sam’s judgement. We both know she should have been SG-1 team leader when she came back. She just wouldn’t take it, what with Cassie and all.”

Landry looked thoughtful, the expression wasn’t quite up to the awkwardness of that _excruciating_ weekend at O’Neill’s cabin, but it was alarmingly similar. Cam hurriedly continued,

“Hell, even _Woolsey’s_ decided he likes the guy, though I’m not sure what _that_ says. Besides, the version of his record on file at the SGC is mostly redacted. Or at least the copy _I’ve_ got access to is mostly blacked out, and we _both_ know what that means sir.”

Landry stared at the ceiling in his office for a long while before he replied. As the dark expression had hinted, his tone meant the conversation was over, “That’s what I thought Mitchell. You’re expected to keep at it. Dismissed.”

Mitchell wandered out of the conference room with the disquieting sensation that he’d only understood half the conversation. Crap, now he _really_ needed to work out what the hell he was going to tell Dave. Preferably before Dave realised the ‘safe house’ in Nellis was Area 51.

He slowly made his way over to where he’d stashed Dave. Despite Landry’s clumsy attempts at reassurance Cam felt useless, he felt worse than useless. Laid up with a bum knee, the only reason he wasn’t on medical leave was the SGC paranoidly keeping their assets close. Well, and _someone _needed to babysit Sheppard, and he was it.

It itched something awful, on the one hand he wasn’t completely out of the loop, he got to sit in on enough briefings to have some idea what was going on. On the other? Cam knew he wouldn’t get sent on the rescue mission when the time came. Let alone get sent out to find the _Hammond_, and Sam. They weren’t even letting him join in the excavations to dig the chair out. (Again.)

He eyed up the elder Sheppard sibling, trying not to let his unease show. Once again the guy was veering between anger and disdain, Mitchell had no clue what to do with that. Cam knew he needed to do _something_ to reach out; it wasn’t the poor man’s fault he needed to stay in nowheresville Nevada desert for fear of what might happen. And it certainly wasn’t Dave’s fault he was an ignorant businessman with no clue what he’d been thrown into.

David had been invaluable, pointing out there’d been a Goa’uld ship when Vala, Sheppard, and Rush were snatched. They’d never have known they needed to be scouring LA held worlds without him. They owed him one. Still, the petulance of the capitalist grated. Cam knew it was fear for his brother and his family (stuck in protective custody) talking as much as anything.

Yet Cam couldn’t tell him anything.

It wasn’t a matter of more than my job’s worth. If Cam told Dave anything beyond the extremely basic facts, he was risking the security of the planet, and Dave Sheppard’s life, to an unqualified civilian. Never mind that the unqualified civilian was Dave Sheppard.

Crap, Cam _really_ needed to work out what he was going to tell the guy, _before_ he was exposed to something he shouldn’t be. It was only a matter of time. The stubborn idiot refused to sign the NDA, even though as a businessman he must have been exposed to hundreds of similar contracts over the years.

“Hey, Sheppard?”

A nasty glower was turned Cam’s way,

“_What_ Colonel?”

“You wanna go grab a beer?” Cam’s voice turned cajoling, “I know who has a stash on base.”

“No _Colonel_ Mitchell, I do _not_ want to go grab a beer. I want to know what’s being done to find my brother!”

Sheppard’s exclamation started out calm enough but grew in volume and pitch as the sentence went on. Cam winced, the SFs outside were staring. 

Cam deliberately got into the taller man’s space,

“Listen, Dave, David,” Cam corrected himself, “We’re doing everything we can to find your brother alright? I know you don’t want to hear this, but he is one of the most valuable military assets in this whole stinking programme! We’re not going to leave him behind. I swear.”

David looked only slightly mollified, he stared down into Cam’s face as if he could read his very soul before he abruptly closed his eyes and stepped away. The taller man hunched in on himself, then collapsed heavily in one of the ubiquitous uncomfortable plastic chairs, as if his strings had been cut.

“I’m, I’m sorry Colonel. I know you’re all doing your best. Hell,” David scrubbed a hand through his brown curls in a move eerily reminiscent of his younger brother, “Roberta tells me you guys have done everything humanly possible to make sure she and the girls are safe. And… Well, she would know.”

“Huh?” Cam blurted, bewildered.

“Roberta Sheppard, formerly Draper, of the Virginia Drapers? Honourably discharged from the Marines, she’d done her twenty before I met her. She’s from the political class. I swore I’d never marry into _that_ kind of old wealth, _or_ a military family. And well,” David shrugged expansively, “Here I am.”

Cam had to remind himself for the umpteenth time to look beyond the businessman,

“Hey, Shep, are you sure you’re doing okay?”

The businessman barked out a harsh laugh,

“No! My brother is missing. My family are in protective custody. I’m as far from okay as it’s possible to get and still be healthy.” With a sudden boyish grin David ruefully looked straight at Cam, “What was that about getting a drink Colonel?”

“Alright!” Cam crowed, then revised his earlier plan, “I know just the place. There’s this fun little alien hunter bar just outside Nellis where the UFO nuts hangout. Come on. Take a load off. You know there’s nothing either of us can do, besides stay safe for when they find him.”

David looked resigned.

They made their way through numerous checkpoints. Cam hadn’t okayed this with Landry, but he figured anything to stop the elder Sheppard from going insane like Senator Armstrong’s widow was likely to be sensible.

Sheppard scoffed loudly when he saw Cam’s baby.

“Hey, what is it with you Sheppards and constantly dissing Winona?” Cam asked, slightly hurt.

He’d never gotten comments about his classic car before, well, no he had. But they’d only ever been _admiring_ comments.

Sheppard snorted, “Unlike you Colonel, I feel no need to overcompensate for anything.”

“_Hey_!” Cam repeated, this time more emphatically.

Dave snorted, reminding Cam so strongly of his brother that he nearly snapped back at the man in throttle jockey speak. Cam caught himself just in time. Sheepishly, aware David had no clue how precarious his situation was, Cam made himself ask,

“So, you hungry Shep? We could eat first, soak up the booze. We’ve got a decent cafeteria here at Nellis. We have to with the base this close to Vegas, it’s that or we lose the civilian contractors to three-hour lunches every day.”

Sheppard snorted again, “I’m not going to be appeased colonel, but very well, lead on.”

They made it to the Roswell 51 UFO bar and grill without a hitch. Winona didn’t raise so much as a twitch from the bar’s regulars. Cam was grateful he hadn’t signed out a car from the pool, the customers were very obviously the type of nut who regularly hung around outside the base like a bad smell hoping for a glimpse of whichever government conspiracy was doing the rounds online that week.

David’s expression upon seeing the inflatable aliens strung up along the bar’s false ceiling was priceless, but the beer on tap was decent, and, well, it _wasn’t _the mess. For all of Cam’s half-hearted talk about staying on base, as a nod to security, Area 51’s mess served food only marginally more tolerable than the bag nasties.

~***

Whilst he was hastening his inevitable demise, by scratching out sections of his decryption algorithm in Devlin Tech’s servers and using _them_ to attack this accursed place, Rush decided to wholeheartedly shatter himself against the immovable object that was the 9 Chevron Project. In for a penny in for a fucking pound. Nick had a tenuous grasp of sanity anyway, he was willing to sacrifice it, if that’s what it took to break through the lock the Ancients placed on the address. Athena’s decision to use the others, especially Vala’s crippling, and Sheppard’s subsequent death as motivation for him just backfired… He wasnae going to cooperate with the mad cunt. He _refused_.

He was going to batter his way through the obstacle to tear whatever mysteries the Ancients deemed important enough to hide behind that ninefold cryptographic lock if it killed him. Athena and Devlin and Sanity be damned. Following Mandy’s advice, and attempting to exercise a modicum of self-preservation only led to the current circumstances he found himself in. The circumstances that meant he’d dragged everyone else down into the morass of his soul to drown with him.

The sight of Ms Mal Doran, _Vala_, a crone kept intruding. Even if he’d wanted to, Nick couldn’t bring himself to focus on the problem at hand. Every time his train of thought wandered there she was, looking like old Moira McConaughey stinking of booze and piss out of the Red Road flats. No, the only thing thus far that’d proven capable of driving that image away was the complex alien code written by a civilisation long dead. The Ancients had been gone, dead, buried, so much dust and ascended light long before the pyramids were a twinkle in Ra’s eye. Yet somehow the lonely remnants of their civilisation were the only thing letting Nick keep his tenuous grasp on the present. If a cryptographic problem from before the dawn of human civilisation could be deemed the present.

Still, even that imagery was better than the visions of Sheppard, John, that brilliant mathematical mind, face lit up with shy pleasure at the recognition Rush had grudgingly given him, snuffed out. The empty shell hanging in the lab hadn’t been his friend anymore.

Now Rush was allowing himself to think about it, the seventh cypher looked less like an impenetrable gordian knot of exponentially complex polynomial transforms and more like a Boolean SAT that had been obscured by yet more layers of assumed knowledge about the inner workings of ancient technology. Nick’s mind swam through the problem, he could almost feel the solution, fingers itching to type up the algorithms that would make short work of separating out the pure mathematics from the obscuring haze of physical science and crystallography. Now his inner Mandy pointed it out, Nick could see it looked remarkably similar to the forms obscuring that first simple stream cypher all those months ago. A simple fourier transform and a quick consult to see if someone else could factor in the shape of the unit cell for him, and Nick would have the seventh cypher he knew.

Athena came in, shattering the beautiful complexity of the mathematics hovering before Rush’s minds-eye.

He screamed, a growl of wordless frustration and anger and hate.

Athena smiled smugly,

“Am I to assume you’ve finished breaking into Devlin Tech?”

This time the noise ripped from Nick’s throat was mostly fuelled by contempt. Letting as much haughty drunken nonsensical injured dignity into his tone as he dared, Rush answered, perfectly seriously,

“No. I am summoning. The haggis.”

Even as the awful consequences played out; Athena hauling in her monstrous pet, and Nick experiencing again just what he’d put Vala through. Nick thought mouthing off was worth it for the look of confused fear on the mad cunt’s face. Nick willingly gave himself over to the spin of pure mathematics in his head, ignoring the sensations his body was sending.

He was left in a crumpled heap on the floor as the wraith was hauled away. Rush was already refocusing on the spin of mathematics, perhaps an n-fold transverse matrix would be a simple way to get around the mapping issue he was having?

Athena made another ridiculous demand. Grinning crookedly, aware he probably wasn’t entirely sane, Rush taunted,

"Meow Meow Cry Meow Meow, that's all I heard you say."

Truth was, Nick broke into Devlin hours ago. Worse, Tweedlecunt showed his screen to Athena, and the mad hen knew it.

One prolonged session with the pain stick later, red lightning crackling down every nerve, Athena demanded,

“No more delays. I want you to break into Sheppard Industries now.”

The desktop was reworked, and Nick’s half-completed attack via Devlin’s servers was dragged tantalizingly out of reach. He hadn’t let himself focus on that task, almost superstitiously afraid of what would happen if he did. Now, Nick was cursing himself for his indolence. A wave of despair shot through him, Nick could barely bring himself to lift his hand to the keyboard.

The inaction cost him.

Athena read his desolation as defiance.

Rush was left a pathetic heap on the floor of his room by the time Athena had spent her rage. He couldn’t find it in himself to regret the decision that had led to this state of affairs. Tweedlecunt glared down at him, skittishly Nick started typing.

Sheppard Industries, there wasn’t the remotest fucking chance _that_ name was a coincidence. Almost against his will, Nick drifted back to the spin of sigmoidal mathematics that was so pleasing to the mind’s eye. Idly he typed out a few rough solutions for the cypher into the Sheppard Industries server, completely oblivious to the room around him.

“Gorgeous!”

Nick hrmmed, actually how about eigenvalues? It couldn’t be that simple could it?

“Nick!!”

A hand clamped down on Rush’s shoulder and shook.

Rush turned and snarled; ready to bite. It was Vala.

“Gorgeous! What are you doing?” she hissed, “You’re not _helping_ Athena are you?”

Nick came back to himself. Brushing aside the wave of glorious mathematics that threatened to drag him under, away from the aches of his newly youthful body, and the spasms from the painstick Nick growled,

“Vala, I wouldn’t piss on that bitch if she was on fire. Tell me what the fucking problem is.”

“We’ve found a ring platform.”

“We?”

“The other host?” Vala frowned at Rush’s lack of recognition, “Gardner.”

“Well?”

“It’s locked.” Vala shot him a speaking look.

Nick, who’d never been any good at reading gestures like that asked, “You’re the expert on Goa’uld technology, why are you asking me?”

“You’re the expert on cryptography.” Vala sighed, and seemed to collapse in on herself, “Look. The Goa’uld abhor irrational numbers with a level of fear that’s… Well, irrational. Yet, they worship the golden ratio and… It’s all very complicated. Have you got any ideas what the code might be Gorgeous?”

“Euler’s number perhaps?”

“Huh?” Vala looked blank.

“2.71828… ” Rush shrugged, still feeling largely indifferent to the physical world, “Look around you Vala, it’s just as likely to be something to do with all these fucking scorpions scrawled on the walls as it is to do with anything else.”

Vala hurried away, but Nick felt a glimmering of hope. Fine, he’d crack Sheppard Industries, but he’d also crack into this hellhole whilst he was at it. Even if he had to spread out his attack across every single server Athena forced him to break.

~***

They had the crystals they needed.

Working out if they would be compatible was another matter. But Novak and Ginn were back, and safe. Sam felt able to sit down and rest for the first time in _days_.

At TJ’s not so subtle prodding, Sam agreed to take a three-hour catnap with ill-grace. It was only the knowledge that Lindsey and her crew of experienced engineers seconded from the _Odyssey_, the _Apollo_, the _Sun Tzu_, the _Daedalus_ and Atlantis alike were working the issue that let Sam do even that.

Even now Ginn and Olan were working with Sam’s team to build the necessary step-up step-down power conversion cradles for the ill-matched Goa’uld control crystals.

Ginn was a marvel. If she weren’t a member of the Lucian Alliance Sam would have liked her. As it was, Sam ordered a close eye be kept on the young woman. Sam was horrified when the quiet slip of a girl admitted _she’d_ been the one to write the breaching pod virus. Ginn was arms deep in the _Hammond’s_ systems when _that_ piece of information came out.

The brutal efficiency of the virus she’d used to bring down the _Hammond’s_ systems had been _awesome_, in the worst sense of the word.

The skill Ginn displayed was even more alarming in light of the fact she’d never encountered Tau’ri-Asgard hybrid technology before she’d done it. The virus was so devastating they’d all believed it was a saboteur. Sam was uncomfortable with the newfound knowledge that _Ginn_ piggybacked the crippling code on the breaching pod that bored a hole in her ship.

Still, between Sam and Doctor-Captain Novak’s supervision, Sam figured they could use Ginn to reinitialise the systems she’d scuttled so effectively.

The worst thing was how scared the girl was. She’d been apologetic from the moment they captured the Lucian Alliance invaders. Olan and Ginn’s all too believable sob-stories about getting press-ganged, with their family’s lives used as leverage, was of a piece with human brutality on Earth. Sam could well believe it. But… Sam wasn’t Daniel. She’d seen and done too much, even before her years at the SGC to so easily trust.

Even as she prepared to sleep, Carter continued to keep a close eye on everything Ginn was typing into the laptop that was completely cut off from the network via the hastily adapted remote conferencing software installed on the device. Sam would double and triple check everything herself, and probably get a second, third, and even fourth opinion before she’d let the program unfurling under the girl’s fingers anywhere near her ship’s systems.

Yes, Ginn was a marvel alright, but like so many marvels her works were beautiful and deadly.

***~

John was aware he still wasn’t thinking quite straight. Behind the flickering golden haze of the Goa’uld shielding that separated him from the rest of the lab Todd was pacing back and forth, shooting him worried looks. John let his head loll, uncaring of what would happen next. The ancienty gizmo had done a hell of a number on him. His thoughts kept trying to twist down avenues of swords being given out by damp women lying in ponds.

Athena’s rage had been something to behold. The endless cycle of pain, sarcophagus, pain had fairly detached him from his surroundings. He’d taken every bit of SERE training he possessed and flung it out to protect himself from the horrors that surrounded him. John allowed himself to sink into deliberate numbness, detached from himself and his surroundings. He wasn’t sure it’d be enough. Everyone broke. The only decision really, was _when_ to break, and what to give.

It said something that _Todd _was a comfort in this place. Athena was monologuing again. The snake sounded frustrated, which John took as a sign that he was doing _something_ right,

“We’ve gotten nowhere with pain. The Wraith did not faze him. Death only made him angry. Sacrificing his companions did nothing for the heartless fool. Time for alternative methods.”

The Goa’uld smiled.

It was a self-satisfied smile.

John was more freaked out by the idea of whatever the hell had put that look on their face than all the torture that had gone on before. Frankly being fed on by a wraith repeatedly was no picnic, even when the wraith didn’t want it either. It had been bad enough when it just happened the once. John now had some idea just what it must have taken to get _Ronon_ to crack. He just _knew _they must have gotten ahold of the footage from when Kolya had taken him, John figured the snake wouldn’t have the intelligence to come up with cycling him through youth and old age by herself. 

Casually Athena stopped her Jaffa,

“Wait. I don’t want you contaminating the rest of the place with his filth. Clean him.”

The goons complied. John had the remnants of his clothing, rags as they were by now, torn from him. Icy cold water from a hose was next, leaving him spluttering and shivering in his bonds, unable to even twist away from the harsh jet.

Still shivering John’s bonds were rearranged, and still cuffed by the hated tendrils, John was hauled away from the lab stark naked. He caught Todd’s alarmed expression as he was pulled away. John figured it was another humiliation tactic on Athena’s part, though, it was a failed one. He was military, any concept of modesty had long since been beaten out of him.

In short order John found himself being dragged along to a whole new section of the Ha’tak, up several levels, far away from the cells, and lab, even Todd.

A Jaffa hurried over to their humiliating little convoy, eyed John nervily, as if he figured he’d be in John’s position after what he was about to say, and hesitantly said,

“Goddess, there’s trouble up at the entrance.”

“And?” Athena asked impatiently.

“The rings are acting up again.”

Athena scowled eyes flashing she bit out, “Well? Use the other exit.”

John made a mental note of the direction the relived looking Jaffa scurried off in.

There was a table. Oh great. Was the vivisection finally going to start now? That’d been the one thing on John’s hypothetical list of greatest hits that he really hadn’t wanted to try out. He threw out some general dispersions about Athena’s lack of villainous style to try and make himself feel better about the ominous table, and its glistening terrifying metallic contraptions,

“Really, what sort of bad guy are you. You don’t even have any sharks. Is it too much to ask for sharks with frikkin laser beams on their heads?”

John made a point of looking unimpressed, he wanted to put off whatever was coming for as long as he damn well could, not to mention the whole, possible way out of here!! Thing that was flashing its neon sign across his brain,

“I mean,” he added sarcastically, “What sort of bad guy's evil lair is this? There aren't even any cats to stroke evilly.”

~***

“Yunno, I tell you Doctor Jackson, when I first saw you I thought, ‘woah that’s one hot piece of ass.’”

“Why thank you Lieutenant James. I think.”

Teyla added her own observation, “Does anyone else feel… strange?”

From her position rifling through storage crates of kassa, Satterfield turned and chimed in,

“Wha-? Nah. I feel fine! In fact I feel _great_!”

James couldn’t help but laugh, “Great? Ha! Sucks to be you, I feel _fantastic_!”

Daniel exclaimed, “_Marvellous_!” in a distant tone.

“Oh, good one!” Caius laughed from his position slumped against another crate.

The world had taken on a sparkling edge. Lights gleamed brighter. Details seemed softer. Everything was brilliant.

That’s what clued James in, _nothing_ was ever brilliant. Oh, sometimes something would take the edge off, but, she was AFSOC, she’d seen and done things ordinary foot soldiers would blanch at. Vanessa hadn’t felt truly happy in years.

“I, I think we’ve been drugged.”

“Oh that’s cool.”

“Ye- no! No it isn’t. It’s very very bad.”

With the false-sobriety adrenaline lent, James tried to catch Satterfield’s eye. The captain was too busy poking in apparent fascination at another battered Goa’uld supply crate. She turned to Teyla, and found the petite woman staring off into space, a distant frown marring her features, but otherwise serene.

Well, crap. This was turning out just like Fallujah. This mission had gone Tango Uniform on them and they hadn’t even noticed. James turned angrily on Caius, but he was as stoned as the rest of them.

“God it’s another Fallujah.”

Daniel frowned at her, James met his gaze quizzically, picking up on the fact she’d said something to annoy him, but unsure what.

“I …visited that city before we decided to make that country our patsy” he paused, “It was beautiful, city of a thousand mosques. Then we wrecked the place. Centuries of history, wiped out in an instant.”

James felt a flash of anger, red hot, and surprising given how artificially calm she felt a moment ago,

“Nossir, the _insurgents_ wrecked the place.”

Daniel smiled cynically,

“And we had nothing to do with that. Installing ourselves as the effective government of the nation, and then doing nothing that _remotely_ resembled governing. We told them they were free, and they should be grateful. When we’d shut down the water, the sewers, the hospitals, the schools, the electricity… I saw Lt Colonel Sassaman’s Israel tactics, and… well, if they didn’t hate us _before_ we invaded, we gave them every reason to hate us before we left.”

“Were you _there_ sir?”

“Hey hey, guys dudes, Tau’ri. Stop with the fighting, you’re harshing my buzz.”

Vanessa’s head lolled as she turned to face the smuggler.

“Huh.”

“Heyheyhey.”

Satterfield sounded far too fucking excited for James’s piece of mind.

“What’s up Captain?”

“Look what I’ve found.”

In amongst the crates of kassa, Satterfield had dug up some kind of data device.

“Lookie here, trade manifests, plans to invade Hebridan because they’re fighting back, cross-breeding data… It’s a goldmine.”

“That’s great and all Grace, but we need to get outta here.” James said.

Teyla was the one who came up with something,

“Surely we can take a leaf out of Han Solo’s book?”

James whirled around, “Ya what now?”

While James was busy regretting her life choices as the world spun horribly, Teyla enumerated,

“This Lucian Alliance is just as criminal as Caius here.”

“Hey! I’m a legitimate businessman lady!”

“And as such, they must have smuggling compartments…”

“Oh, hey yeah that sounds like a great idea.” Daniel said, sounding for all the world like a stoner. “How’d you know anything about Star Wars anyway? Teal’c show it to you?”

Teyla smiled, even as she continued searching the gold walls for an exit,

“Oh no, that honour went to Colonel Sheppard.”

“Aha!!” Daniel was the one who found the secret compartment.

“Hurry up guys!” James chivvied Satterfield and Caius along.

Satterfield stowed the data device she found, and shot Vanessa a wry look,

“This better not be a trash compactor…”

***

Camile bumped into Madam Shen as she left the SGC’s accounts office. The sub-NORAD base at Cheyenne churned like a kicked anthill, so Camile wasn’t wholly surprised she’d run into someone she was trying to avoid. However, it was deeply unfortunate that she’d run into this particular IOA higher-up just as Camile was attempting to smuggle out information she didn’t strictly have any right to access.

Fortunately, or not, the Chinese representative held… the typical views Chinese nationals of a certain class tended to hold of those people of Chinese descent who lived outside the country. Traitor, foreign, lesser like all non-Chinese races, but somehow _worse_, because it was a _choice _to be inferior and non-Chinese, not an inborn defect.

Wray could practically _hear_ the sneer.

Hopefully that level of blind disdain would protect her.

Shen’s eyes ran over her contemptuously clearly noting every flaw in her appearance. Camile tried not to draw attention to the tablet and hardcopy files tucked into the machine’s case. She deliberately made a point of _not_ hiding it behind her back. Madam Shen smiled nastily.

Crap.

For all that she was working the accounts on Strom’s say-so, Camile wasn’t sure she could come up with a valid excuse for getting hold of some of the files she was holding right this instant.

Madam Shen smiled shark-like and started speaking in Mandarin. Completely ignoring the accepted etiquette on base that everyone stuck to English, given it was the language the gate translation circuits latched onto.

Dr Park of all people came to Camile’s rescue. Her unlikely saviour unknowingly bulldozed her way through the whole car wreck of a social interaction, utterly derailing the other woman’s train of thought. Yeah, Camile was mixing her metaphors, it had been a stressful couple of weeks. Evacuation from an invasion, a crash course in whole new skillset so her boss, who hated her, wouldn’t have an excuse to fire her, and then to top the whole stinking situation off… Camile discovered a line of dubious accountancy that meant she was investigating her own employers without any sort of official sanction to protect her.

Shen turned and asked in Mandarin why Park was interrupting her betters. In faltering Cantonese, that Camile was ashamed to admit she was surprised Park spoke at all, Park asked Shen to repeat the sentence. Camile had been under the impression that the foolish woman had completely renounced her heritage to try and fit in. As if being aggressively English-speaking would make any difference in a country that coined the slur ‘chink’ to justify slavery, then later came up with yellow peril to justify concentration camps. Camile was proudly Chinese American herself, but she wasn’t blind to her home-nation’s flaws. Shen’s expression turned truly unpleasant in the face of the other language; it was the perfect distraction.

Camile deliberately swapped over to Korean, to piss off Madam Shen, a woman snobbish, and foolish enough to have stuck with only Mandarin, the official language of the Chinese government, rather than learn any of the popular languages the people in Eastern Asia actually spoke, especially those who weren’t party members.

Two could play at that game.

For all that Camile was not overly fond of Doctor Park, she refused to allow the Chinese IOA representative to shame a fellow Asian-American for a perceived traitorous un-Chineseness, which, Camile was well-aware, as a ‘foreign’ Chinese herself, the diplomat viewed Wray and Park as. Albeit to differing extents, given that Park was ‘only’ a Korean American, and Wray was a second generation American from a ‘traitorous’ family who fled during the Cultural Revolution.

Park was slightly taken aback by Camile’s sudden enthusiasm for a prolonged conversation about the vagaries of mineral deposition on foreign worlds vs Earth’s composition, but gamely allowed herself to be drawn into a conversation. Wray happily followed Park to the civilian break room, still chattering away in American-accented Korean, when they got to the queue for the coffee pot. Their conversation garnered a few weird looks, but less than they probably should have earnt, all things considered. The English-only speakers probably didn’t quite understand how unusual it was to hear this particular language spoken at length at the SGC.

***

John struggled futilely against the hands holding him down.

“Shall we drug him?”

Athena smiled smugly at John, then turned to her goon,

“No. I want him aware, to _anticipate_ what’s about to happen.”

John gulped. He could sure do with some of that enzyme given strength right about now, but the Gift of Life process just left him feeling drained and ill. He’d lost count of how many times Athena had Todd drain him and revive him, over and over again.

From his prone position on the table John blanched as something that looked like it came out of Quentin Tarantino’s most fevered nightmares about what people got up to during sex was pushed towards his face.

“Oh hell no. You _kinky_ bastards.” John restarted his struggles, heedless of the fact that he was getting nowhere. “No way. No way in hell.”

It was no use.

The shiny black mask, with its sinister looking tubes was harshly pulled over his head.

John squirmed trying to wriggle free.

“Oh for your goddess’s sake! Sedate him if you’re finding it so difficult. But nothing that’ll knock him out. I want him to know what he’s earned himself.”

There was a sharp prick at his neck.

John’s movements grew even more uncoordinated. What had been jerky motions slowed to lethargic shuffling, before winding down to mere twitches. His brain was separated from his body, he could still feel, see and hear everything despite the terrifying glimpse of the mask thingy he’d gotten, but he could not get his brain’s commands to connect to his limbs.

“_Finally_!” Athena gripped his chin harshly, pulling his now lolling head around to face her, “Prepare for torment the likes of which you’ve never imagined you Tau’ri fool!”

John wanted to mock her for her hackneyed villain dialogue but couldn’t work up the coordination to speak. The men preparing him started moving his body around as if he was a fucking _doll._ All John could do was lie there and hope it would be over soon.

Alarmingly John realised that the mask had one of those horrible little tubes that inserted into his stomach, he found this out when the guy fiddling with it poked up his nose and down his throat. He’d have gagged if he could. It was like breathing around a fucking straw in his sinuses. Unthinkingly John opened his mouth to get some more air, that was a strategic error. In the moment of twitchy disorientation as he found he couldn’t even control his jaw properly; he saw a hand headed his way and could do nothing to stop it as it firmly strapped the mask with its hated feeding tube to his face. John peered cross-eyed at the thing in horror. What the fuck? What could possibly need this?

The next thing he was aware of was the sensation of his hands and legs slowly being encased, gloves? Pantyhose? What the hell? Whatever the material was it was slick, and restrictive, and oh oh _hell_ no. Athena smugly grinned at him as she used something on the ungainly mask as a handle to lift his head up. John peered past the tube; this was like the kinkiest most disturbing porn he’d ever seen on some of his marines’ shared stash that he wasn’t supposed to know existed. _Fuck_.

He was still naked, all his junk hanging out for everyone to see. But his arms and legs were encased in restraints that were covered in alarming tubes and wires, it looked just like the brief glimpse of the hood he’d gotten. _Shit_. He was being turned into a pincushion! He watched with detached horror as, with an ominous clicking noise, the tubes triggered simultaneously, and injectors of some sort built into the gloves started working their creepy magic. Pain registered a moment later. His hands curled up into fists, spasming involuntarily shut as whatever they were doing to him took hold. He couldn’t even twitch his arms anymore. They’d taken away his _thumbs_.

Whatever this meant, it couldn’t bode well.

The layer of tubes and needles wrapped up around both his legs activated the same way. Suddenly his ankles were attached to each other solidly. _Again,_ with the creepy pain of the injectors, they’d completely taken away his ability to run. It felt eerily like the world’s longest cramp, only he was strangely detached from it all, as if he was drifting away from his body. Fuck. If Shep could have, he’d have banged his head back against the table.

Yet another complex load of alarming tubing was hauled over to the table by two of the servants, slaves, _whatever_, they were helping this bitch. John tried to say, ‘Oh Fuck no!’ when he worked out what they were, but between the tubes, the mask and the drugs all he managed was a squeaky, “Unhgffff! Fffffnnnn! Nnngh!”

The unpleasant sensation of a catheter being inserted, and the doubly invasive feeling of _something_ worming its way up his ass had him trying not to show fear. From the malicious grin on Athena’s face it wasn’t working. The implications about how long term this was all gonna be really weren’t sitting well.

She patted his flank proprietarily, “Oh don’t worry your pretty little head, slave. This is all to keep you healthy. Relatively, anyway.”

His head was unceremoniously dropped back to the table with a thunk, John couldn’t really see those alarming tubes, and their alarming positions anymore. But he was horribly aware they were there. Uncomfortable tugging sensations every time he was repositioned by Athena’s goons was testament to that.

Shep’s arms were pushed down to his sides, lo and behold, the tubes and wires poking out of his arms faded out of awareness. Oh, he could still feel his arms, sorta. But considering the drugs, the whole concept they were _his_ felt foreign.

Screwed. He was so fucking screwed.

Athena mused, whilst tugging at the mask, shoving John’s head around as she did so, “I want you to know your struggles are pointless. I have agents in Area 51 as we speak. I shall soon gain access to your Asgard Core, and destroy your Odyssey in the process, and… well, I could always use a spare ATA carrier. I hear your brother is there too.”

Panic was everything. John didn’t even have enough muscle control to practice that simple sixteen second SERE breathing technique to try and calm down. In the back of his mind he could hear himself gibbering that it was a good thing his autonomous muscles were still working given he couldn’t even control something as simple as breathing right now.

To his disbelief the table lurched horribly, and he started sinking. What the hell?! Sheppard swiftly found himself peering up at the ceiling from a much lower vantage point, oh he did not like where this was going at all… It was like looking up at the world from the bottom of a well.

Yep, and there it was, the horrible twist to an already horrible situation. He realised what the lower position meant when the goo started oozing in. It was thick and cold around his bare skin. The table was a tank, a tank he was lying in, about to _drown_ in. Sonofabitch! He couldn’t even try to squirm away, just look on at the people working above him, reeling in stunned horror at the sensation of the stuff slowly creeping up around his back, buttocks and calves. It was just like the fucking Matrix. Only he wasn’t Neo, and he didn’t have the power to take a magic pill and escape the bad place. A voice that sounded suspiciously like McKay’s snorted in his head. Oh what? With all the suggestive imagery John couldn’t give in and run with it?

Shep lay there in shocked silence for a while as the inevitability of it all overwhelmed him, first the goo reached the back of his neck, he could feel his hands being submerged, the tips of his ears got wet…

Athena’s face loomed over his again, unwelcome and far too close.

“I’ve saved the best bit to last my stubborn little ATA carrier.”

She turned to, well, presumably there was someone next to her, Shep’s field of view was pretty limited right now, what with being trussed up like a pig, stuck at the bottom of a rapidly flooding tank, and unable to move what few muscles were still free.

“I shall take away your hearing and your sight.”

No!

“_Nnnn_!”

“Let’s see if that’s sufficient motivation. You should have obeyed your Goddess when you had the chance.”

The goo was slowly oozing up over his head, lapping up over his thighs and around his torso, Sheppard couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. Something oozed into his ear canals. Abruptly Athena’s mouth was moving but there was no sound.

Sheppard started panicking for real then, unheeding of the terror shining in his eyes.

The goo rose inexorably upwards.

Something black closed over his eyes and he was in darkness.

He had a few more moments to panic in the dark.

He could feel it slowly rising, and finally the ooze seeped into his nostrils.

He was going to drown; he was going to _drown_.

If it weren’t for the muscle relaxants he’d be hyperventilating. He was choking on thick viscous gunk and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he _couldn’t breathe._

If he could he’d be thrashing.

Gradually it registered to his terrified brain that he wasn’t dead.

Dumbly the realisation that he couldn’t really feel _anything_ kicked in. He couldn’t feel the bottom of the tank. Couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t. _Couldn’t_.

There was a fleeting sensation of tightness. What? What could it be? Oh. Oh fuck oh fuck oh _fuck_. They’d closed that death tank thing over his head, hadn’t they?

The already claustrophobic sensation increased tenfold as there was an abrupt shift in the oozing of the stuff that encased him, and a sensation of freefall.

Sheppard was coming down from the panic of near drowning, all that adrenaline with no output left him feeling drained and emotional. He couldn’t tell if he had the shakes or not, weirdly detached from his body as he was. He had no idea what was going on, nothing. No clue what to expect.

Were they moving him? They must be? But why? Where?

After what felt like an eternity, he felt a reverberating clunk. Then nothing. He had no idea where he was. What was in the room with him. If he was even still in a room? Fuck!

There was an uncomfortable tugging sensation on the numerous pieces of tubing sticking out of his body. Oh, oh shit, that, no, Sheppard tried not to gag, horribly afraid of the consequences if he did, yeah, yeah it was. That was the nasogastric feeding tube. He was stuffed full of needles pumping god knows what into him. He swallowed around the discomfort and realised that he could sort of move again. Not that it would do him much good, in the dark and the silence.

Gradually even that limited awareness of his body faded away, the weightlessness of the goo removing basic knowledge of up and down and sensation.

Would he even be able to tell if he had vertigo like this?

It felt scarily like G-LOC.

No worse.

There was no clue. No horizon to orient against. He assumed he was still facing the sky. But nothing spoke either way.

It was how he’d imagined those who’d died in the void between the galaxies at Midway might have ended up if the Wraith hadn’t got to them first.

Endless black.

Time.

How long had he been trapped here in the dark?

Minutes?

Hours?

_Days_?

The black nothingness completely overwhelmed him.

He started to scream silently, even the sensation of his own throat vibrating to give him some sort of anchor, missing entirely. Anything.

There was nothing.

***

The atmosphere in Caius’s little ship was tense.

“You Tau’ri.” Caius’s tone turned from darkly cynical to a mocking sing-song,“It’ll be an easy job. A quick in and out, no trouble.”

Doctor Jackson, oblivious to the undertones said,

“At least we found a clue, Hebridan. The Lucian Alliance are frustrated by their lack of progress. Those reports. A rival galactic network spying on the Alliance as the Alliance spies on the rest of the galaxy. We have to go there. It’s a start at least.”

Daniel opened his mouth to say something else, but Caius, his attention still on the viewport didn’t notice,

“You’re just as much trouble as Vala, Daniel Jackson. I’m never taking another job from you or the Tau’ri again.”

Teyla eyed the smuggler. It might be the kassa induced hangover talking however it had taken weeks to track the man down, and now they had, she was not overly impressed. His small craft wasn’t inspiring; Teyla had sat through Star Wars often enough, on John’s behest (and later _despite_ John’s protests when Ronon worked out precisely _where_ the nickname Chewie came from), to draw unflattering comparisons with Han Solo.

“Caius.” Daniel said cautiously.

“Why yes dear Daniel?”

Teyla eyed the man suspiciously. He was all too familiar, the type of individual who existed by preying on others’ greed. Yet, he was the first person they had contacted who _hadn’t_ immediately tried to sell them out to the Lucian Alliance. Given how many failed missions they had been on, how many times the Alliance sent them fleeing for their lives? That was significant.

Just as Atlantis maintained an uneasy alliance with the Genii out of necessity. Teyla felt they needed this man. Besides, he _had_ saved them.

The past five missions ended with their so-called contacts immediately attempting to sell them out. Tenat and Jup, the disturbingly alien bounty hunters had barely been the tip of the iceberg of double crosses and failed attempts to find even a trace of what the Alliance were planning over the past month.

With no little amount of disquiet Teyla watched as Daniel Jackson’s blatant disdain for the man, made Caius pull further and further away from them,

“How long until we reach our destination?”

“Oh a while.” Came the noncommittal reply.

Teyla could almost see the disappointment and barriers coming up behind the smuggler’s eyes. Jackson started up with trying to renegotiate their deal again,

“Caius, come on, you know me. I helped get you your ship back.”

Caius’s response was cool, “Yes, after Vala stole it.”

“Yes…” Jackson pursed his lips, “After Vala stole it. But we got it back for you. Without our help you’d still be playing monk with a broken piece of spaceship as a holy relic. You owe me.”

It was precisely the wrong tack to take. If anything _they_ owed Caius. He was the one to get them out of the kassa warehouse. Teyla watched the smuggler’s posture stiffen as Daniel continued. She thought Doctor Jackson was supposed to be good at this?

“I don’t owe you anything. We had a deal, we both met our ends of the bargain. Just as I’ll follow through for you here by dropping you off where we met up.”

“Oh, _come on_. You know how dangerous the Lucian Alliance are. It can’t be easy keeping up the business with their territories growing. “

She decided to make one of those ‘Executive Decisions’ Elizabeth occasionally joked about, all the while using a chiding tone of voice that stated if Teyla had been under her command rather than Athosian, she’d be receiving a formal reprimand.

From her long coat Teyla produced the Athosian Firestarter that helped impress upon John all those years ago that her people were more than nomadic hunter-gatherers. Not that he _ever_ looked straight through her, the way many of the military members of the Expedition tended to in that First Year of their alliance.

“A trade then?”

Caius’s eyes fairly lit up with glee. He casually flipped a switch on the gaudy dashboard and came straight over to her,

“And what _is_ that?”

“Merely a device my people manufactured millennia ago.”

Teyla demonstrated its use by igniting one of the smaller bundles of dried herbs that lined the cockpit of Caius’s ship. The gout of superheated plasma that shot out of the end of the Firestarter practically had Caius doing a little jig on the spot.

“Oh!”

He reached out a covetous hand, Teyla drew the Firestarter back away from him with alacrity.

“No. You get this when you get us our information.”

Sullenly Caius asked, “Any other demands?”

“I have more technology you may find of interest if you decide to do other favours. The Athosians are a fair people, we have always respected honesty.”

“Athosians?”

Teyla inclined her head.

“Never heard of you. You’re not of the Tau’ri?”

“No.” Teyla gave him a highly edited version of the truth, ignoring Doctor Jackson’s pouting, and Satterfield’s amusement with the ease of long practice with her own team, ”Until five years ago my people’s had never dealt with Doctor Jackson’s, though we’ve since found them to be occasional allies.”

Teyla let the greedy trader see a flash of Lantean crystals, they were always on the lookout for intact control crystals, and Teyla had gotten into the habit long ago of carrying burnt out examples of the most needed specimens.

“With the promise of a trade like that I’ll do more than this one run. Share information? Sure. You get me some of that Gatebuilder stuff, and you’ve just rented yourself my ship indefinitely. You just need to get in touch, I’ll come calling.”

Caius moved away to rifle for something in a storage crate, he came up with a transmitter of some sort and handed it over. Automatically Telya took it, unpleasant memories of her locket and Ronon’s subspace tracker in mind.

Teyla was taken aback by the man’s sudden enthusiasm. She looked to Captain Satterfield for guidance, Satterfield gestured emphatically yes, Jackson was frowning constipatedly, but Lieutenant James looked pleased.

“I shall require your services as long as this… situation is ongoing.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal lady. Just so long as you tell me about your source of gatebuilder gear.”

Jackson was still scowling fiercely. Teyla struck out her hand, “Deal.”

“So where’d you get all this stuff?”

“_After _we finish the initial contract you agreed to with Doctor Jackson.”

Caius groaned good-naturedly.

“Okay lady. Sure, you’re right...” Caius sighed and moved back to the strangely decorative dashboard. Settling down and adjusting the controls he said, tone all resignation, “One non-Alliance controlled world coming right up.”

***

Vala stared in horror as the device was set up in the cell across from hers. No! Not that. Oh, not that the state Sheppard had been in when the Wraith had been made to feed on him over and over again wasn’t horrifying, but if it was what she thought it was…

No, it couldn’t be could it?

Where would a nothing like _Athena_ even _get_ something like that?

Even amongst the most powerful system lords that technology was rare. Let alone to a minor Goa’uld who’d been stuck playing businesswoman on Earth last time they’d met.

Eight of Athena’s attendants manoeuvred something bulky and awkward into the cells.

By Seth’s dribbling nose! It was!

The large grey plinth covered in Goa’uld writing was positioned in the cell, the men left.

Vala tried not to panic. That was Sheppard’s cell. Sheppard had gone, so blasé at the beginning. He’d been _fed on by a_ _wraith_, over and over, and it hadn’t seemed to phase him. Athena had subjected Vala to the treatment twice, it was indescribably awful. As bad as anything she’d ever subjected anyone to whilst she was Qetesh, worse even than the pain the Tok’ra had inflicted. It rivalled punishments Qetesh had meted out whenever Vala displeased her…

But this? This was prolonged torment of the sort that the Wraith, _Todd_, had been unwilling to subject his fellow prisoners to. And oh how Athena had punished the predator for that inaction. She’d give that to the monster, no matter how much Athena threatened, the wraith never drew it out.

The technology was founded on the same principles as Sarcophagus tech. The myths the Goa’uld liked to spread had it that when Ra, Osiris and Isis had been allies rather than enemies, they’d developed it together, at the same time as the magic that kept the gods forever young.

The coffin-esque box was intended to keep the victim alive, healthy even, whilst their suffering was on display for the gods’ subjects to watch in fear as an example was made. Vala suspected it was the self-same device that inspired all those horrible mummies the Tau’ri were so creepily enamoured of. The bindings that held the victim cocooned in position looked eerily similar to the bandages all those desiccated corpses tended to come wrapped in.

The box acted as a sort of quasi-stasis field, nowhere near as strong as the Ancient equivalents, the field kept the victim alive and aware, as they were immobilised without any sensory input for days, weeks, months, even years at a time.

Vala heard tell that Isis and Osiris had liked to keep people on display for _centuries_.

A cocktail of hallucinogenic drugs and the bare minimum amount of nutrients to keep the target alive were pumped into the victim, as their body was forced into a state of near hibernation, the field doing _just_ enough to prevent them from taking the final escape.

Sure enough, Vala watched with a sinking heart, as a vaguely humanoid shape, encased head to toe in a shimmering translucent tub of fluid, and wreathed in bandage-like restraints, was laid down on the dais in a coffin-shaped transparent case and wired in. Tubes and other connectors ran into and out of the tank and the form lying vulnerably on display on the plinth.

If it weren’t for his hair, Vala wouldn’t have recognised him.

The _expression_ on his face…

Vala swallowed back bile.

“Oh excellent. You clearly recognise what I’m doing to your friend.”

Caught up in her revulsion Vala hadn’t spotted Athena come in. Hiding her fear at her inattention Vala bit out a series of the more inventive swearwords in her repertoire, loosely translated she’d just called Athena a ‘pox ridden donkey’, Goa’uld was such a _good _language to swear in.

Athena’s eyes flashed gold,

“Hold your tongue Mal Doran.” She ran a hand proprietorially over the abomination that Sheppard was trapped in, “Yes, he’ll be …busy for quite some time. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take up the slack when it comes to entertaining my underlings.”

Vala’s blood turned to ice.

“Oh yes Mal Doran, it will be so _interesting_ to see how the Tau’ri response to Wraith feeding differs from that of a Milky Way slave.”

Vala wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. She was sure she’d endured worse, had _done_ worse when Qetesh was in her head. But right then she was struggling to think of any specific examples.

She’d thought if she behaved like a ‘good little slave’ she could avoid more feeding cycles, but Athena had changed the rules of the game.

“What’s with the face Shol’va? I told you from the beginning I wanted to compare a Tau’ri dog to a Stella Via mongrel.”

***

Cam glowered over at Dave Sheppard.

The UFO nuts had begun to take notice.

The businessman had the temerity to raise a finger to shush him as he continued to take that oh so important phonecall he was having. Dammit. The little understanding they’d come to aside, the man was an ass. Cam was beginning to see where the other Sheppard got it from, it was innate, inbred.

With growing alarm Cam realised whatever the news was, it wasn’t good.

“I see, thank you.”

Sheppard ended the call, and turned to Cam.

“Well? What happened? That sounded serious.”

“There’s been a cyber attack on Sheppard Industries.” Dave looked grave, “Our experts caught it as it happened, but whoever it is got what they wanted and got out.”

Dave turned a pleading look his way, it was unfamiliar on the usually self-contained man’s face,

“Please Colonel, we have to deal with this. Who knows- “

“Colonel, ey sonny?”

Cam groaned and turned, a UFO crazy, in full militia gear was looming. Or rather, given just how tall Dave Sheppard was, attempting to loom.

“Yeah, Colonel, and we’ll just be going, get out of your hair.”

“No can do sonny. We want to know what’s going on at that secret base of yours up the road.”

So much for talking his way out of this.

Cam tried to get in a position to defend himself, bum knee or not.

The bearded old-timer stepped forward and swung wildly. Cam felt it as Dave brushed him aside, and, in a move Cam recognised from marines on the sparring mat, efficiently, if slightly too showily, took down the idiot. If David had been up against someone who’d been trained, they’d have spotted what his intentions were, as it was the wannabe soldier was in a winded heap.

The other guys in the bar, who had been gathering, took a step back at that display. Dave took a theatrical look around and straightened his cuffs,

“Oh, good. I see common sense _can_ prevail.”

After they hastily paid and were on their way back in Winona, Cam turned to Sheppard and asked,

“What the hell was that?”

“Oh, uh, my wife taught me some basic self-defence.”

“Your _wife_.”

“Yeah.” Dave rubbed at his hair in that familiar gesture again, “Ironic really. After Dad kicked John out for joining the military, I had to go and fall in love with a Force Recon marine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of Doc Ingram's lines are Richard Ayoade jokes. And there's a minor not quite a cameo from a character who tends to wander into most of my stories, regardless of fandom!
> 
> Rush's v.Scottish line about Haggis is borrowed directly from David Tennant in the brilliant BBC short Staged.
> 
> As always, there's an Expanse easter egg snuck into this chapter too. 
> 
> *Marvin the Paranoid Android voice:* "Editing, don't talk to me about editing..."
> 
> This one was relatively important, for all that in many ways it's transitional, a _load_ of plotthreads begin to play into each other here in ways that should become more obvious later, but it meant editing chapter 9, in effect meant I had to edit chapters 10, 11, 12 and so on, in order to make sure the timelines were still sane.


End file.
